
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS, 

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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 





























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Itup (^tfcbons iilorfif. 


THE CHEZZLES. A Story for Young People. Illus- 
trated by the Author. Crown 8vo, $1.50. 

RACHEL STAN WOOD. A Story of the Middle of the 
Nineteenth Century. i6mo, $1.25. 

HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO. 

Boston and New York. 


RACHEL STANWOOD 


A STORY OF THE MIDDLE OF THE 
NINETEENTH CENTURY 



LUCY GIBBONS MORSE 



BOSTON AND NEW YORK 
HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY 
<&\)z fitoeitfibe pceg'0, Cambribije 

1893 


Copyright, 1893, 

By LUCY GIBBONS MORSE. 

All rights reserved. 


The Riverside Press , Cambridge , Mass., U.S. A. 
Electrotyped and Printed by H. 0. Houghton and Company. 


TO THE MEMORY OF 


MY FATHER AND MOTHER 

JAMES SLOAN GIBBONS 

AND 

ABBY HOPPER GIBBONS 

THIS BOOK IS GRATEFULLY 


DEDICATED 















































-• 































































r 














CONTENTS 


CHAPTES 

I. A Door on the Latch .... 

II. Friends and Friends 

III. “Hawyet Wilson” 

IV. Miss MacClare begins a New Career 

V. Getting Ready 

VI. Grace Desborough 

VII. The First Day at the Fair . 

VIII. Face to Face with the Question 

IX. A Sleigh Ride 

X. Tibbie learns about Organ Stops 

XI. Tibbie and Havilah 

XII. Deuteronomy xxviu 

XIII. The Aristocracy at Aunt Peggy’s . 

XIV. Rachel’s Talisman 

XV. At the Blacksmith’s Shop 

XVI. Another Difficulty for the Desboroughs . 

XVII. In the Office of the New Firm 

XVIII. Eloise meddles at the Right Moment 

XIX. A Violin, and Shadows 

XX. Danger 

XXI. Havilah 

XXII. Tracing Footsteps 

XXIII. Answers to Certain Questions 

XXIV. Miss Graythorn explains Thorough-Bass to 

Grace Desborough 

XXV. In the Name of the Law 

XXVI. Another Law 

XXVII. “ Failed ? ” 

XXVIII. Miss MacClare’s Popularity .... 

XXIX. The Stanwood Code 

XXX. Home 

XXXI. Right-about Face! ...... 


PAGE 

1 

33 

71 

81 

104 

123 

143 

158 

185 

194 

205 

217 

226 

245 

254 

269 

281 

290 

297 

315 

335 

347 

359 

366 

375 

383 

395 

400 

413 

427 

437 





























































RACHEL STANWOOD. 


CHAPTER I. 

A DOOR ON THE LATCH. 

Ten years or thereabouts before our civil war, in 
the city of New York, in one of the cross streets 
between Ninth and Tenth avenues, Twelfth and 
Twentieth streets, there was a row of six three- 
story, red brick houses with green blinds, high door- 
steps, and small, neat grass plots in front. The 
houses were numbered from 264 to 274. In the 
grass patch before No. 268 a honeysuckle vine was 
planted and trained upon wires so as to conceal the 
drain -pipe and climb almost as far as the top of 
the parlor windows. In front of the house, by the 
curbstone, were two flourishing young horse-chestnut 
trees with tall, green-painted wooden pantalettes on 
their trunks for protection. There were no other 
trees on the block, the main part of which was 
occupied by vacant lots and lumber yards. Along 
Tenth Avenue, where the Hudson River Railroad 
ran, was a row of irregular buildings with shabby 
stores on the ground floor. 

In the Ninth Avenue quarter of the block above 
stood the ponderous house and stable, greenhouse 


2 


RACHEL STANWOOD . 


and garden of the Theophilus W. branch of the 
great Yon Storaway family, but, from their in- 
closure to the coal yard on the Tenth Avenue corner, 
were only other vacant lots and a row of low wooden 
shops occupied by mechanics. 

No. 268 was the home of a Quaker family named 
Stanwood, — Friends Joseph and Deborah Stan- 
wood and their children, Rachel, Elizabeth, and 
Richard. They were among the most liberal even 
of the liberals of the Hicksite Quakers, and were 
interested, practically, not theoretically, in reforms. 
First and principally they were abolitionists. Their 
house was a regular station on the Underground 
Railroad, being one of the safest and best refuges 
in the city for runaway slaves, and at the time of 
conventions or reform meetings it was crowded 
with visitors of every shade of complexion, from 
white to darkest African. 

The Stanwood family went in a body to reform 
meetings, from which the children came home with 
all kinds of badges, which it delighted their souls to 
wear, — red, blue, and white ones for the republic 
France wanted; red, white, and green ones for 
Hungary and Kossuth; green ones for oppressed 
Ireland; Am-I-not-a-Man-and-a-Erother ones for 
the slave, etc., etc. The family hearts bled to- 
gether for the slave, for Hungary and Poland, for 
the emigrant, the impecunious foreigner, the unsuc- 
cessful artistic or literary genius, professor of 
science, or scholar who could speak seven languages 
but could not earn a living in one; for the prisoner 
whose trial was pending and the discharged convict 


A DOOR ON THE LATCH. 


3 


who had to begin all over again to make life respect- 
able ; for the saint, the sinner, and the sinned against, 
and for abused, suffering children everywhere. The 
Stanwoods closed their hearts to nobody. They 
never had a servant who was not either a fugitive 
slave, a newly arrived immigrant or a discharged 
convict. In one department or another there was 
always in the house some special sinner (or sinners) 
in process of reformation. 

On a certain morning in September, Mrs. Stan- 
wood and her daughter Rachel were busy in the 
large second -story back room, which they were pre- 
paring for an expected guest. The room properly 
belonged to Rachel and her little sister Elizabeth, 
but they were to move themselves and their belong- 
ings into the little front-hall bedroom upstairs. 

Mrs. Stan wood was forty-seven, short, and in- 
clined to be stout. Her light brown hair, begin- 
ning to silver, was brushed down smoothly over her 
temples, turned behind her ears, and twisted into a 
knot at the back of her head. Her eyes were more 
noticeable because of the quick, direct way they had 
of seeing instantly what they looked at, than for 
their color, which was blue. She had still a remark- 
ably fresh complexion, and when she smiled showed 
the prettiest of teeth. For typical Quaker serenity 
she was too active ; every motion betrayed her 
energy, but she was deft, not bustling, and it was 
curious, watching her, to notice how few motions 
she wasted. She looked as if it would be difficult 
for her, even at meeting, to do nothing but sit still 
and look placid. She wore a gingham dress of the 


4 


RACHEL STANWOOD. 


finest possible check, black and white, the neck of 
it cut so as to show just a fold of white lace crossed 
underneath, over her bosom. She had on a long 
white apron, but she did not wear the white ker- 
chief usually adopted by Quaker women of her age ; 
she said it required too much time to adjust, and 
that it made her warm. 

Her daughter Rachel, who was twenty, was tall, 
finely formed, and very handsome, with a fair skin, 
dark hair and eyes, and color which flashed easily 
from throat to forehead. She had, in addition to the 
quick, effective movements of her mother, a carriage 
that was noble. She was habitually too grave, but 
her smile was of rare sweetness. She had on a cot- 
ton gown dotted with tiny pale blue sprigs and fitting 
her perfectly. She, too, wore a long white apron. 

Mrs. Stanwood was getting clean sheets from a 
linen closet in the entry, just outside of the room 
door. 

“Mother,” said Rachel, raising her voice and 
laying her hands on the mattress which was turned 
over the footboard of the bed, “does Frederika 
Bremer sleep on a feather-bed?” 

“She oughtn’t to; it isn’t healthy,” said Mrs. 
Stanwood, coming into the room to see the mark on 
the corner of a sheet. “These are the ones. Put 
the feather-bed under, where it belongs, and we will 
change it, if she prefers.” 

Rachel gave the feathers a heave toward the head 
of the bed and turned the mattress over to its place. 

“These are mended; don’t thee want the best 
ones? ” she asked, looking at the end of the sheet 


A DOOB ON THE LATCH. 5 

which her mother tossed to her from the opposite 
side of the bed. 

“I ’m afraid they are all mended, dear; these are 
the best,” said her mother, and smiled while she 
added, “but if Frederika notices them at all it will 
be because of the neatness of the mending, so thee 
need not be troubled.” 

When the bed was ready, all but the coverlid, 
Mrs. Stan wood brought in from the linen-closet a 
many-colored patchwork spread. “Oh, mother, not 
that frightful thing!” exclaimed Rachel. “Miss 
Bremer will have nightmare under it.” 

“Now, Rachel! She will appreciate it, and will 
admire every patch when she learns its history,” 
said Mrs. Stanwood, stroking it. But Rachel was 
evidently not going to accept any defense of the 
article, for, while her mother was speaking, she had 
procured from the closet another spread of light, 
flowered chintz. 

“ Now there, mammy dear ! ” she said coaxingly, 
taking the patchwork one away and tossing it on a 
chair. “We ’ll tell Miss Bremer the history of 
every orphan at the asylum who sewed a stitch of it, 
and she can put it into her next novel, if she wants 
to, — that is, if she can invent a character with taste 
bad enough to submit to it.” 

“Well, well; it does n’t look ugly to me,” said 
the little lady, smoothing the chintz cover on her 
side of the bed. 

“Of course it does n’t,” Rachel exclaimed, “ be- 
cause thee does n’t see it. Thee sees nothing but 
the orphans sitting around and quilting it for thee, 


6 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


and every orphan is a beauty, in thy eyes. But it 
is hideous to behold, mammy dear, and the only way 
to use it will be to put it, wrong-side-out, under the 
outer spread. Too late for that now. If thee ’s 
. broken-hearted, I ’ll put it on Abner Cumley’s bed, 
if he comes ! ” 

“Child! child! I ’m afraid thee doesn’t appre- 
ciate him, either,” said her mother, but with lurking 
amusement in her expression. 

“Yes I do, but I ’d like him better if he ’d fix his 
hair like an ordinary Christian. I don’t see any 
virtue in being outlandish,” Rachel said. “But 
since he likes that sort of thing, let him sleep under 
the orphans’ quilt.” 

“Well, have it thy own way, dear,” said her 
mother, “and make haste to get the rooms ready, 
for we have a busy day before us. When thee is 
through up here, will thee take a look at the parlors 
and see if they are all right? ” 

“Yes, I will, providing” — and Rachel, smiling, 
waited for her mother to ask, “Providing what?” 

“Providing thee won’t bring out any more offer- 
ings of gratitude. Thee has had a perfect deluge 
of them lately. And don’t thee go mousing round 
after me and find out how many I ’ve hidden away. 
Don’t miss anything, will thee, thee naughty little 
mammy ? ” 

“That reminds me; get me my birthday china 
from the second shelf in the spare-room closet,” said 
Mrs. Stan wood, moving away an armchair from the 
bedside and placing in its stead a small mahogany 
table with a drawer in it. 


A DOOR ON THE LATCH. 


7 


“What on earth is it for? ” asked Rachel, return- 
ing with a cherry-wood tray on which was a little 
single service of delicate china. 

“I am going to send Frederika’s breakfast up to 
her and I know she will enjoy it more out of the 
birthday ‘offering’ of my children. She has an 
eye for the beautiful,” said Mrs. Stanwood. 

“ And one for our convenience as well, if she only 
knew it,” said Rachel. “We can get through all 
the morning work before she comes down. I ’ll 
bring her breakfast up myself, — Harriet would 
sprinkle it all the way along. Only this tray won’t 
be big enough.” 

“Oh yes, it will,” said Mrs. Stanwood, putting 
some napkins into the table-drawer. “There! I 
must have clean napkins and an extra knife, fork and 
spoon kept in here. She does n’t want anything 
for breakfast but 6 a cup of ca-fay ’ and a potato 
which she wants me ‘to have boiled in the tea-kettle, 
to save trouble. ’ Now, can thee do the rest alone? ” 

“Of course,” said Rachel, “only let me under- 
stand about the others. Frederick Douglas is to be 
in the front room upstairs, and Abner Cumley is to 
go into Dick’s room?” 

“Frederick Douglas’s room is all ready,” said 
Mrs. Stanwood, looking up from the staircase, which 
she was now descending. “Don’t fix Abner’s room 
until I send thee word, as he may not come. If he 
does not, thee has only Betty and thyself to look 
after, when this room is finished.” 

It was very evident that the prospect of Miss 
Bremer’s visit was agreeable to the family, for, in 


8 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


a moment or two after Mrs. Stan wood had disap- 
peared, there was a breezy movement on the stairs, 
and a round-faced, hot little boy of eight, breath- 
ing hard from running, came into the room with a 
bunch of asters which Rachel barely prevented him 
from dumping upon the bed. He delivered his 
message in phrases suited to his breathing, getting 
rid of it as soon as possible. “Father cut those — 
for Miss Fred’rick — Douglas and Betty’s — going 
to get her a bunch — too ’n so ’m I — ’cause she ’s 
going to tell us some stories — put ’em in water.” 

Rachel corrected him as to the name. “Yes, I 
know,” he said, wiping the perspiration from his 
face with his sleeves. “An’ Mr. Somebody is 
coming an’ he ’s to have my room an’ I ’m to sleep 
in the trundle-bed an’ that ’s all.” And he was 
off, clattering down the stairs with frightful ra- 
pidity. 

It was not anniversary week, but the coming of a 
crowd of guests was so common an event that the 
family were never either surprised or disturbed by it. 
The children were accustomed to giving up their 
rooms and beds to visitors, on the shortest notice. 
In their early childhood they became used to being 
awakened by their mother saying, — 

“Too bad to disturb thee, dear, but I want thy 
bed for company; thee get into the trundle-bed.” 

They would make the change only half awake, 
curl up in the trundle-bed and go to sleep while she 
was tucking them in, learning, as they grew, not to 
stretch too much. 

Richard was the only one now who could adapt 


A DOOR ON THE LATCH. 


9 


himself to the little bed. His hurry to get down 
stairs was that he might rejoin his father, who was 
doing some work on the grapevine over the hen- 
coop, and was in a hurry to go down town to his 
business. 

Mr. Stanwood was a little over fifty, with a spare 
figure, irregular, sharply cut features, straight, 
iron-gray hair, and dark eyes which were rather 
dreamy but which lighted up easily, particularly 
with an appreciation of the comic. His forehead 
was full and high, and his face, being smooth- 
shaven, showed the lines upon it prominently. 

When Richard reached the garden, his father 
was talking with a singular-looking gentleman. It 
was necessary to get over the effect of his hair and 
beard before looking at the rest of him. Both were 
chestnut brown; his hair dressed in tight, springy 
curls which reached his shoulders, and his beard, 
full and wavy, falling half way to his waist. In 
contrast with the rather prevailing fashion of shav- 
ing the chin, the hair upon Mr. Cumley’s head and 
face presented a striking appearance. It was the 
only part of him upon which much care seemed to 
have been bestowed ; below that his interest in him- 
self seemed to die out. His head seemed to be 
made for ornament, the rest of him for use. He 
was tall and of a somewhat clumsy build. His 
clothes, which were of a homespun order, had seen 
better days; and he wore stout, serviceable shoes. 
His face, what could be seen of it, was not unpleasing. 

It did not prepossess Richard, however, for he 
planted himself at his father’s side, watched the 


10 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


gentleman a minute and then said to himself, 
“That ’s the feller what ’s going to have my bed.” 

Bichard did not object to anything about him but 
his curls. While he was looking at them, Mr. 
Cumley was saying: “It looks as if the under- 
ground railroad would be in active service within a 
day or two, and as if an express train might have to 
start any minute from this very place.” 

“We will be prepared for an emergency,” said 
Mr. Stan wood. “The hencoop way is safe and 
Harriet is warned, so that she will escape, even if 
her master comes here for her.” 

“Thee has neglected to introduce me, Friend 
Stan wood,” interrupted Mr. Cumley, seeing Bich- 
ard scrutinizing him, and afraid the child would 
understand too much of what his father was saying. 

“Oh!” exclaimed Mr. Stanwood, his seriousness 
transformed, at once, into beaming pride in his lit- 
tle son. With a pretense of having something of 
great importance on hand, he turned to Bichard, 
whom he hastily put through a formal presentation 
and hand-shaking, and said: “This is my head 
workman — Mr. Trudge. Friend Cumley, Mr. 
Trudge. Yes, sir! Now, Mr. Trudge, we are 
obliged to leave you to pile this rubbish into the 
wheelbarrow and carry it to the corner heap. 
You will find your wages this evening, sir, in my 
left-side vest pocket. Good-morning, sir! ” 

“All right, sir!” said Bichard, in a gruff voice 
intended to sound like a laborer’s, and proceeding 
at once to rake up the grapevine cuttings which 
strewed the path. 


A BOOR ON THE LATCH. 


11 


Mr. Stanwood looked at Mr. Cumley to see 
whether his son was fully appreciated, nodded his 
acceptance of that gentleman’s rather absent-minded 
interest, and disappeared with him into the house 
by way of a broad piazza which overshadowed the 
kitchen windows. 

Behind the little yards belonging to the row of 
houses, extended, on one side of the Stan woods’, va- 
cant lots with here and there low temporary build- 
ings, for the most part occupied in the day-time 
only, by working people. Beyond the lots were 
factories and an iron foundry. On the other side 
was a large lumber yard which reached back to the 
street in the rear. For a small sum Mr. Stanwood 
had obtained permission to fence in the lot behind 
his own yard, and had converted it into a beautiful 
garden. It also reached to the rear street, to which 
there was an exit through a door cut in the fence. 
Around the edges of the garden were rich grape- 
vines and wide flower-beds which were always bright 
with the season’s flowers. There were crocuses, 
hyacinths and tulips in the spring, and all summer, 
richly bordered with mountain pinks and sweet alys- 
sum, were beds of petunias, Johnny - jump - ups, 
pansies, roses, coreopsis, and what the children liked 
best, phlox and larkspur. They liked them because 
they could make such pretty little wreaths and chains 
with them, and the middles of the larkspurs pulled 
out so neatly and fitted so exactly into one another. 
Then it was fun to make fairy cream-pitchers and 
shoes out of the lady’s-slippers; but the prettiest 
thing was *a teapot made of a crab-apple by biting 


12 


RACHEL STANWOOD. 


off a bit of the long stem, sticking it, bulgy end out, 
for a nose, into one side of the apple, and turning 
the rest of the stem over and sticking it into the 
opposite side for a handle. 

Surrounded by lumber yards, factories and noisy 
workshops, with engine smoke floating over it when 
the wind pleased, it was a rare and lovely home- 
garden, with an abundance of flowers and a crop of 
both fruit and vegetables large enough to supply 
the family and leave a generous share for others in 
many a time of need. In every part it gave evi- 
dence of a genius for making the most out of every- 
thing. 

Wherever there was an immovable, misshapen 
rock, vines were trained, or an arbor built over it, 
and the inexhaustible imagination of Mr. Stanwood 
created a romance to suit it. There was very little 
money in the family, and imagination was cultivated 
largely to take its place. An old, dead apple-tree, 
cut down and sawed up, provided a gnarled, de- 
formed piece out of which dear old “Benjamin 
Bump,” the children’s rocking-horse, was made; 
another grotesque bit made “Timothy Tickleboy,” 
a sort of familiar, who was fastened up by the hen- 
coop to frighten away witches from the new little 
chicks; and the smaller twigs of the old tree were 
used for a fence around the petunia bed. The very 
clothes posts were invested with personality and 
made interesting. Being originally too high for 
convenience, Mr. Stanwood sawed off the tops and 
converted them into a family of dolls for the chil- 
dren. He painted expressive faces on them, and 


A DOOR ON THE LATCH. 


13 


the cross-pieces which had served to wind the lines 
on answered for arms. They were called “The 
Timberkins ” and lived in the deserted hencoop. 

The hencoop had been deserted for some years ; 
in fact, hens enjoyed its privileges for only one 
season. The family imagination surrounding them, 
as it did everything else, made it impossible to put 
them to ordinary uses. The family rebelled at 
sight of a fricassee made out of “ General Fluff and 
his wife! ” It became difficult to reconcile the fam- 
ily conscience even to taking the eggs and thereby 
disappointing the hopes of motherly hens. The 
Stanwood purse could not support hens on these 
principles, and they were finally transferred to 
Uncle Thomas Fitch’s farm. There was also, at 
the far end of the garden, a deserted pig-sty which 
had a similar history. Two cunning little white 
pigs had once been styed there in the neatest and 
most approved fashion. They were fed and talked 
to over their fence, and learned to run, the moment 
anybody appeared, to have their backs scratched 
with long sticks kept for the purpose. But they 
grew, and the time of sacrifice had to come. “Dar- 
by and Joan’s ” spareribs were not any more appe- 
tizing than the Fluff fricassee had been, and the 
pork was sent to Mrs. Stanwood’s pet institution. 
The sty was converted into a diminutive chip yard 
where twigs and cuttings from the garden were 
thrown. A little blacksmith-shop had been recently 
put up next to it, and Elizabeth and Kichard liked 
to stand on the sty-fence boards to look through the 
side window and watch the men make horseshoes. 


14 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


After his experience with the hens and pigs, Mr. 
Stanwood abandoned all attempts to imitate farm 
life in the city and devoted himself to his garden 
only. 

The hencoop where Richard was at work was on 
the western side of the garden, against the fence 
which was next to the lumber yard. On the oppo- 
site side, playing by herself in an arbor, was Eliza- 
beth. She was ten years old, with golden hair, 
deep blue eyes which were always dreamy, a fair 
complexion, and expressive rather than pretty fea- 
tures. She was seated on a small rustic chair sew- 
ing, with her work-basket on a large rock which was 
against the fence at the back of the arbor. 

There was a looking-glass on the rock, leaning 
against the fence. Elizabeth was making herself a 
fancy apron, like her friend, Eloise Desborough’s, 
and had brought the mirror from the house because 
it was necessary to see how it fitted. Eloise’ s was 
made of India muslin, and Elizabeth was making 
hers out of an old window curtain her mother had 
given her to cut up. The Timberkin family were 
standing on the rock, either side of the glass. Eliza- 
beth’s method of sewing was interesting, but it was 
not the method of an expert. All her cutting, fit- 
ting, turning of hems, adjusting, etc., was carried on 
with her needle and long thread in her hand. Her 
intention was to have them ready for use when 
needed, but the result of her forehandedness was 
much snarling of thread, dropping of scissors, the 
slipping away of her needle, the discovery, just 
when her fingers were pinching a difficult place to 


A DOOR ON THE LATCH. 15 

be secured by a stitch and saved from readjusting, 
that her needle was unthreaded, and so on. 

Her work proceeded through many tribulations, 
because of that needle and thread always pinched 
up in three of her fingers, leaving only her thumb 
and forefinger for service. But she was intensely 
interested in what she was about, and never seemed 
to lose her patience. Presently it was time to try 
on, and laying down her work, she took off the 
apron she was wearing (it required much skewing 
and hitching of herself to get at the buttons behind), 
and put on the new one over her straight-waisted, 
plain-sleeved, pink gingham dress. The effect was 
disappointing. “If my waist would only slant in 
just a little /” she thought. “And if mother only 
wouldn’t tell Miss Stepson, when she cuts my 
dresses, to leave room for me to grow!” But 
Elizabeth’s waist was uncompromising; her form 
generally was like a pillow. “If Rachel has some 
lace to give me to sew around the bib, and some 
ribbon to make bows for the pockets, that will make 
it prettier,” she thought. 

She had to stand on her chair to see in the glass 
better. In the midst of patting the folds into place 
she was attacked by a day-dream. “My dear,” she 
said, addressing one of the Timberkins, “I shall 
wear a pink velvet dress with a long train, and you 
must put on your white satin, Polly. Dolly and 
Adeline,” indicating the two Timberkins opposite 
Polly, “will wear blue silk dresses, and Amelia 
Agnes Low will wear purple satin.” She turned 
sideways to try to get a view of her back in the 


16 


RACHEL STANWOOD. 


mirror. It could not be done. “Oh certainly! ” she 
exclaimed, smiling loftily upon Agnes Timberkin, 
who had made an imaginary remark. “They are 
all coming to the ball, and they will see that you 
are not beneath their notice, my dears. Do not be 
at all troubled about them, and be sure, when you 
see how surprised they are at your magnificent ball- 
dresses, to tell them that the Queen sent them to 
you. Then they will see that you are very impor- 
tant ladies, and they will never again call you clumsy 
or frightful.” The Timberkins here held quite a 
conversation, for Elizabeth laughed, nodded and 
made various gestures to them. Presently she said 
severely, “I am very glad you did, for it will teach 
them a lesson ! ” Then she made another effort to 
see her back in the glass. While she was working 
at it, she remarked: “We must be sure to be 
dressed early, because the Queen is coming to tea. 
She is going to wear her best crown and her white 
gauze dress trimmed with diamond fringe, because 
she ” — 

“Betty, I say ! ” her brother Richard roared in at 
her. She gave a start which shook her off her chair 
and made her stagger. Her visions were dispelled, 
and Richard’s angry little face, smeared with dirt 
and perspiration, was squeezed in between the vine- 
branches at the side of the arbor, glaring at her. 
He was angry because he had something intensely 
interesting and mysterious to tell her and she would 
not hear him. The success of having frightened 
her off of her chair appeased him. He shouted 
with laughter and ran around to the arbor entrance. 


A BOOB ON THE LATCH. 


IT 


They had to have their laugh out before Eichard 
could speak. But what he had to communicate was 
serious, and presently he arrived at it. 

“I ’ve found out where it begins! ” he said, look- 
ing about to make sure that nobody heard but Eliz- 
abeth. Her day-dream had been so vivid that she 
was slow to understand. 

“What?” she asked. 

“Hush! I know it’s a secret; whisper! I’ve 
found out where it begins! ” said Eichard. 

“What begins? ” asked his sister. 

“Come closer! Somebody might be climbing the 
fence to listen,” he whispered, drawing her out to 
the path. He looked about in every direction and 
then said mysteriously, “The Underground Rail - 
road! ” 

“Oh, Dick! ” said Elizabeth, as if it was a great 
discovery. “Where is it? How does thee know? 
I don’t believe thee does.” 

“Yes, I do!” said Dick, wagging his head and 
looking as wise as Solomon. “Only nobody knows 
that I ’ve found it out, and I won’t tell — I 
wouldn’t tell a slaveholder, not if he was to hill 
me ! ” 

“Of course not, but I don’t believe thee knows 
really and truly,” said Elizabeth. 

“Yes, I do!” said Dick, confidently. “I heard 
Mr. Cumley tell father that a ’spress train was going 
to start on the Underground Eailroad right from this 
place ! An’ after they ’d gone, I found out where 
they meant. I knew I ’d find out sometime ! I ’ve 
been just watching to find out and I listened with 


18 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


all my might as soon as father an’ Mr. Cumley 
began to talk about it. Oh, yes! 1 heard ’em! 
They didn’t think I was understanding ’em, but I 
was / Hm! I know more ’n they think I do.” 

“Dick, I believe thee ’s just making up,” said 
Elizabeth, suddenly incredulous. “I ’ve never seen 
Mr. Cumley, and thee don’t know even what he 
looks like.” 

“Yes, Ido!” said Dick, so sure of his ground 
that he raised his voice louder and louder while he 
said, “His hair is parted in the middle and brushed 
flat and rounding each side of his forehead, and then 
it ’s put behind his ears, and the rest of it is tight 
curls down to here,” touching his collar-bones. 
“They bob up an’ down when he walks, an’ I hate 
him ! ” 

“So do I,” said Elizabeth, knowing her senti- 
ments at once. 

“But he let out the secret that time,” said Dick, 
“and, if thee wants to see where the Underground 
Railroad is, come along and I ’ll show thee. Thee 
can’t see from here. I ’m glad I know at last.” 

“So am I,” said Elizabeth, looking for her hat. 
“I’ve asked father and mother and sister Rachel, 
often and often, and they never tell me so I can 
understand.” 

“I know something else too,” said Dick. “Har- 
riet — There! Look, Betty! Did thee see that? ” 
He caught her dress and drew her back behind a 
lilac bush, peeping around it as if afraid somebody 
would see him. 

“See what? ” whispered Betty. 


A DOOR ON THE LATCH 


19 


“Harriet!” whispered Dick, peeping around the 
bush again. Betty tried to see too, but perceived 
nothing. Dick looked up at her with big eyes and 
whispered, with his forefinger significantly raised: 
“ She ’s going to take the train ! Sh-sh-sh ! Father 
told Mr. Cumley he ’d tell her to get ready. An’ 
I saw her just now run inside of the hencoop just 
as fast as she could go ! It ’s there, Betty, — I saw 
it. I went in to get my ball, an’ I saw the boards 
of the fence loose, an’ I took hold of one an’ it slid 
right down, an’ I looked behind an’ it was like a 
little, dark, crooked entry with the lumber piled 
over it! You could crawl along just as easy as 
anything right to the undergroun’ railroad cars, I 
know you could ! Come look in the coop and see ! 
There ! ” he exclaimed softly as a shrill engine-whis- 
tle sounded from Tenth Avenue. “Hear that?” 
Betty nodded. “That ’s the train going,” said 
Dick. “Harriet ’s gone; come into the hencoop 
and see if she has n’t.” 

They took hold of hands and trod on tiptoe, as 
if they were conspirators. “I saw Harriet rush 
in,” said Dick, on the way; “I guess she was afraid 
of being late for the train. But she was n’t late; 
for I ’ve been looking at the hencoop ever since, an’ 
she has n’t come out again.” 

They stood at the coop door and peered inside 
with their big eyes. There was the place in the 
fence, with two boards misplaced, and nothing but 
darkness in the opening. “See? She ain’t here 
— she’s gone on the train!” said Dick, gratified 
to see Betty forced into conviction of the undenia- 


20 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


ble truth of his statements. The coop was a very- 
large one, covered with heavy grapevines which 
cast their shadows over the hole in the fence and 
gave it additional mystery in the eyes of the chil- 
dren. They carried their inspection a little further, 
peeped through the opening, were satisfied that it 
led to a part, certainly, of the underground rail- 
road, and then returned to the arbor to play. They 
had scarcely done so when Mrs. Stanwood came 
rapidly from the kitchen, down the path, went into 
the coop and replaced the fallen boards. Without 
pausing an instant, she then went to the end of 
the garden, undid the fastenings of the door in the 
fence there, opened it and looked up and down the 
rear street once or twice, closed without fastening 
it, and went quickly to the vegetable -bed, where she 
began to pick some tomatoes, with deliberation 
which seemed inconsistent with her quick move- 
ments up to that minute. She glanced once or 
twice up at the parlor windows, with an anxious ex- 
pression. Her mind was evidently not at all on 
the tomatoes. Half of those she gathered were un- 
ripe, and she carried them into the house in her 
apron, a thing the children had never seen her do 
before. She hesitated as she passed the arbor, as 
if the sight of the children suggested something to 
her, but immediately seemed to set the thought 
aside. “Having a nice play?” she asked, but did 
not wait for their answer. She went into the 
kitchen and at once stepped to the side of a colored 
woman who was nervously washing some dishes at 
the sink. 


A DOOR ON THE LATCH . 


21 


“Now, Peggy,” she whispered, “if thee shut thy 
eyes when I told thee to, thee did not see which 
way Harriet went and thee does not know where she 
is.” 

“No, miss; don’t be ’feerd. I ain’t gwine to 
know nothin’. Mebby she went out froo de front 
basement,” Peggy said, clattering the dishes more 
than was necessary. “But ef dey doan see me 
shake, it ’ll be de wuk o’ de Lawd, dat ’t will! ” 

“Here,” said Mrs. Stanwood, coming from the 
closet with a wooden bowl and chopper. “ Thee can 
shake all thee wants to at this work ; I ’ll do the 
dishes.” She emptied the tomatoes into the bowl 
and directed Peggy to sit down and chop them up. 

There was the tread of feet in the parlor, over- 
head, and the sound of men’s voices talking loud. 
Rachel, with her light step, appeared at the kitchen 
door, had a whispered consultation with her mother, 
and went upstairs again. Mrs. Stanwood looked 
out into the garden in the direction where the chil- 
dren were playing. She shaded her eyes with her 
hand and peered, this way and that, under and 
around the vines and bushes. “They could not 
possibly have seen anything from there,” she said 
to herself and went to washing the dishes. 

Mr. Stanwood and Mr. Cumley had not, as little 
Dick supposed, left the house. Mr. Cumley came 
now down the piazza steps and around to the kitchen 
window, where he, too, had a whispered talk with 
Mrs. Stanwood, after which he went down the path. 
He passed the children at their play and stopped to 
speak to them. Then he went to the end of the 


22 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


path and out of the door in the fence which Mrs. 
Stan wood had unfastened. After he left them, the 
children looked at each other. 

“He ’ll be too late,” said Dick. 

“I guess he ’ll take another train and meet her 
where she gets off,” said Betty. Dick assented to 
the probability, and tucking the four Timberkins 
under their arms, they went behind the bushes. 

When Rachel left the kitchen she went up to the 
parlor, where her father was having a controversy 
with a tall, large-faced Southerner and a constable. 

When Rachel entered, the Southerner was say- 
ing angrily: “I have a warrant to search your 
house, sir, and shall proceed at once to do so, if 
you do not deliver up my slaves, Harriet Wilson, 
Havilah and Diana Moore.” 

“Let him search, father; he can begin in the 
attic,” said Rachel. 

The Southerner looked at her contemptuously and 
said: “Your invitation is too cordial, madam. My 
slave is evidently not in the attic, and you wish 
only to deceive me.” 

“Address thy remarks to me,” said Mr. Stan- 
wood, severely. “Thy warrant permits thee to 
search my house, but not to converse with any 
member of my family. Offer the slightest disre- 
spect to any one of them and I order thee to leave 
the premises.” 

“By !” The Southerner began an oath, 

but the constable interfered. 

“Let your feelings simmer on the back of the 
stove; you’ll miss what you’re after if you boil 


A DOOR ON THE LATCH. 23 

over!” he said. “Take the lady at her word and 
begin upstairs.” 

But the Southerner demurred. After a little al- 
tercation he said insolently, that, inasmuch as per- 
mission to search the attic had been volunteered so 
freely, he would prefer to have the basement floor 
inspected first. 

Entering the kitchen they found Peggy chopping 
the tomatoes and Mrs. Stan wood putting the dishes 
away in the dresser. 

“Mother,” said Mr. Stanwood, “these men have 
a warrant to search the premises for three people 
whom one of them, Mr. Suydan, I believe, claims as 
his property: has thee any objection? ” 

“None at all,” skid Mrs. Stanwood, with quiet 
deliberation, selecting a pile of saucers and fitting 
them with precision into a particular corner of the 
shelf. She deliberated too long and kept them 
waiting until the Southerner was irritated. 

“We have no time to waste, madam, and must 
proceed at once,” he said, trying a closet door and 
finding it locked* 

“Wait a moment, friend, if thee pleases,” she 
said, looking over her shoulder at him. “I am 
busy here and cannot be interfered with. The 
upper part of the house is open to thee, and thee can 
postpone this part until I am ready for thee. The 
keys are in my pocket, and thee cannot look far 
without them.” 

“Take your time, ma’am. The gentleman can 
wait,” said the constable, whose sympathy was drift- 
ing toward the occupants of the house. 


24 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


“I cannot wait, and your remarks are not called 
for, sir,” said the Southerner, testily. 

“All right, sir! I’m willing to waste all the 
time you are,” said the constable, and he looked on 
in amused silence all the while Mrs. Stanwood was 
fitting her keys into several doors, unlocking each 
in turn, and waiting with aggravating precision to 
fasten it again, after the Southerner had made his 
inspection. After a quarter of an hour spent in 
this way, Mr. Suydan said, impatiently turning to 
Mrs. Stanwood: “Perhaps, madam, you are willing 
to affirm that nobody is concealed on these prem- 
ises?” 

“Does thy warrant require me to affirm?” she 
asked him, quietly. 

“It gives me power to search the house, madam, 
from ground to roof, and it may save you trouble to 
answer a question or two. Here — you! ” he cried, 
losing temper and turning to Peggy : “ How many 
more niggers are there here, besides yourself? If 
my niggers were n’t hidden yer somewhere you ’d be 

ready enough to say so, any one of you, and by 

I ’ll have every corner of the place ransacked! ” 

“I ain’t afeerd! ” said Peggy. “A ain’t seen no - 
b'dy ! ” and she chopped furiously at the tomatoes. 

“We’ll examine the yard!” said Mr. Suydan, 
peremptorily. He strode into the garden, command- 
ing the constable to follow and perform his duty. 
The constable went, protesting, “It ’s all a clean 
waste of time, mister; what you ’re looking for ain’t 
here.” Mr. and Mrs. Stanwood and Rachel followed 
the men in their inspection of the garden, Rachel 


A BOOR ON THE LATCH. 


25 


going at once to find the children. They had left 
the arbor and were discovered first by Mr. Suydan, 
whose eyes had soon lighted upon the hencoop as 
a likely place to look into. Elizabeth and Rich- 
ard were inside of it, sitting on an overturned box, 
plump up against the loose boards, two of the Tim- 
berkins in the arms of each. They looked excited, 
but amused rather than alarmed. 

“This is my children’s playhouse; they are not to 
be disturbed in it,” said Mr. Stan wood. 

“You can both see all there is to see from here,” 
his wife said, at the door. Mr. Suydan had entered 
the coop. Rachel, white and trembling, stood close 
to her mother. Both of them were breathless in sus- 
pense. If the children innocently should remain 
where they were, the search might be diverted from 
that place. Elizabeth and Richard did not budge. 

“Is anybody hiding here?” demanded Mr. Suy- 
dan of them. “I am looking for three niggers who 
have run away from me, children — two women and 
a little girl — have you seen them? ” 

There was an instant of silence. Out of their 
innocence the children might help the fugitive. 
“Hush — let them answer,” said Mrs. Stanwood. 
Mr. Suydan had repeated his question. 

“It ’s swearing to say 4 nigger! ’ ” said Richard, 
red in the face. The constable roared. 

“You can tell the gentleman if you have seen two 
colored women, beside Aunt Peggy, with a little 
girl,” said Mrs. Stanwood, smiling at the children, 
reassuringly. 

“No, but we wouldn’t tell anybody , if we had,” 


26 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


said Richard, looking full into the face of Mr. Suy- 
dan. 

Mr. Stan wood beamed, and exclaimed, behind his 
wife: “You are answered, sir, and can pursue your 
investigations elsewhere; my children have nothing 
more to say to you.” 

“But there ’s something to tell thee , father, wait ! ” 
cried Dick, and planting his Timberkins on his seat, 
he followed Mr. Suydan out of the coop, and stand- 
ing before his father said he wanted to whisper. 
Mr. Stanwood went aside with him and bent down 
to hear. “Mr. Cumley told us to tell thee he was 
going to meet Harriet at the station an’ take her 
right along on the underground railroad. He went 
roun’ that way,” Dick pointed to the door in the 
fence, “an’ he was too late to go in the same train 
Harriet went on. Betty an’ me heard that train go 
off, but Betty says Mr. Cumley was going to meet 
her where she got off the cars.” 

Mr. Stanwood laughed aloud and put his hand 
on Dick’s upturned forehead. Dick’s face was all 
puckered with the seriousness of the message. Mr. 
Suydan was expressing his annoyance. 

“I am convinced that my slaves are on your 
premises, sir,” he said, “and I will have them. I 
will have you summoned to appear in court, sir, 
and I will” — 

“It is unnecessary to threaten ; neither thy threats 
nor thy anger disturb us,” said Mr. Stanwood, his 
face so cleared of anxiety that his wife’s and daugh- 
ter’s also wore relieved expressions. “I am not re- 
quired to give thee any information concerning the 


A DOOR ON THE LATCH. 27 

people whom thee calls thy slaves, but, if thee would 
like to hear a message I have just received about one 
of them, I will ask my son to repeat it.” 

Dick thought his father most unwise to allow 
Harriet’s master to know so much about her, but 
he repeated the message when he was told to. The 
constable roared again with laughter. Mr. Suydan 
was enraged and began to use rough language. 
The constable interrupted him : — 

“You’re wasting every minute you spend here, 
Mr. Suydan,” he said. He was not over anxious 
to have the slaves escape, but his duty was disagree- 
able to him. He was irritated, too, at the South- 
erner’s blundering way of going at the business. It 
was easy for him to perceive that, whereas in the 
beginning Mr. Stanwood had been anxious to avoid 
the carrying into execution of the warrant, he was 
now not only willing to allow the search but would 
like as much time as possible spent in the opera- 
tion. The constable had hinted several times that 
they were wasting time, but Mr. Suydan had not 
heeded him, and was angry now because he laughed 
at Dick. He turned upon him, and said, with a 
sneer: “Perhaps you know what that gibberish 
means and where to find this station of the under- 
ground railroad! For all I know, you and the 
d d Quakers are in the plot together.” 

The constable lost patience and answered, — 

“No, sir, I don’t know, but if you wish to stay 
here and find out, while your property is making 
tracks for Canada, /’ve no objection, an’ may be 
the gentleman here and his little boy ’ll help you ! ” 


28 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


“Certainly!” said Mr. Stanwood, with, anima- 
tion, rubbing his hands caressingly over Dick’s 
shoulders. “My son will tell you all he knows 
about the underground railroad, wonit thee, Dick? ” 
But Dick backed into his father and cried an- 
grily, “No! I’ll never tell him, — never in all my 
life, an’ he needn’t ask me! ” 

“Are you satisfied with your inspection of the 
garden, and will you proceed with the search in- 
doors, gentlemen?” Mr. Stanwood asked. There 
had been enough of his boy in the conversation, and 
he was ready for a diversion. 

“There ain’t a bit of use in it, I tell you, sir!” 
the constable said, in an undertone to the South- 
erner, who turned to him. 

“We will call again, or you will hear from me in 
a way you don’t expect! ” Mr. Suydan said to Mr. 
Stanwood, as that gentleman opened the front door 
to let them out. 

“I believe the whole business was a put-up job,” 
Mr. Suydan growled, as they walked away. “ What 
makes you so sure that the niggers aren’t there?” 

“Because I ’m not a jackass! ” the constable an- 
swered, with a strong temptation to emphasize the 
pronoun. “Because it was as plain as daylight,” 
he said aloud, “that the more time you spent in the 
house, the better you ’d please the parties in it, an’ 
the more time you ’d give the person who gave the 
child that message to get off with one of your nig- 
gers and hide her in a new place. I saw, the min- 
ute that pretty young woman put in her oar and 
invited us to search the attic, that the game was up 


A DOOR ON THE LATCH. 


29 


there. An’ then what the boy said showed as plain 
as day that the only one of the niggers they ’d had, 
' had been sneaked off, — while you were talking, 
most likely.’ ’ 

“Why the devil couldn’t yo’ say so, and show 
them up then and there?” asked Mr. Suydan in 
wrath. 

“Begging your pardon, sir, I tried to get you to 
give up and come away, but you wouldn’t,” replied 
the constable. 

“Do you mean to say yo’ don’t believe those 
people know where my slaves are? ’’asked Mr. Suy- 
dan. 

“They ’re too smart to know,” said the constable. 
“I tell you, sir, there ain’t a lawyer in the country 
that can come up with one of those regular nigger 
abolitionists. Take any one of ’em and he ’d put 
you off the scent just when you thought you had him 
sure ! Get him in a tight corner, — and I tell you, 
sir, it takes the judge and jury all together to get 
him there, — an’ I ’ll just show you what I ’ve seen 
’em do. There they are in court, with the lawyers 
piling questions on ’em, an’ knowing they won’t lie. 
They know that, and they can’t catch ’em, with 
all their cross-questioning. The abolitionists have 
got more ways of getting out of the way of the law 
than the lawyers have of getting into it ! I ’ve seen 
’em leave the whole court more uncertain where to 
look for a nigger than they were before they began. 
And yet every fool knows that, if they want to, 
they can get at a runaway nigger as straight as a 
shot aimed right at a mark. Take that Mr. Stan- 


30 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


wood, for instance. When we went into his house, 
likely your niggers — some of ’em, or all of ’em — 
were there, hid downstairs. But that fellow the boy 
gave the message from was there, too, don’t you 
see? We go in, and he goes out a back way, with 
the niggers. Or else, maybe the niggers weren't 
there, nor have n’t been there, nor are n’t going to 
be there, — do you suppose Mr. Stanwood is goin’ 
to let us find that out? No, sir! I’ve been em- 
ployed on this kind of business a good many times, 
and I know a good many of the ways of abolitionists. 
He ’d keep you on the scent round his house just as 
long as you ’d stand it. He ’d do it to keep you 
away from some other house, if he had n’t any other 
reason. I tell you, sir, the abolitionists are the 
greatest secret society ever invented. Their se- 
crets ’ll never be found out, either, and — by thun- 
der ! — even their very babies are in ’em ! ” 

While they continued their conversation, Mr. 
Stanwood, upstairs, was coaxing out of Elizabeth 
and little Dick all that they knew about the under- 
ground railroad. 

It might not have been in strict accordance with 
the principles of Quakerism, but he certainly al- 
lowed some most astonishing statements to pass 
without correction, and even went so far as to say 
to the children that, whether he agreed with them 
or not, their theories were “harmless and very safe.” 

The boards in the fence under the hencoop were 
again displaced in a little while, and a very dark 
negro girl of about eighteen crawled through the 


A BOOR ON THE LATCH. 


31 


opening and darted under the grapevines into the 
kitchen. Mrs. Stanwood was dismayed. Peggy 
gave a yelp. 

“Why, Harriet!” Mrs. Stanwood exclaimed. 
“A gentleman went to meet thee, and ” — 

“Ya-as ’m ! ” said Harriet, laughing to hurt her- 
self, and showing very white teeth. “He was thar, 
missus. We was listenin’ at de crack in de fence, 
an’ ef de chillun had ’a’ run, we ’d ’a’ cut. But 
we heerd ’em talkin’, — an’ — he! he!” The girl 
doubled herself up with laughter. When she could 
again speak, she wiped her eyes with her apron, 
and said, punctuating her words with chuckles, 
“ Massa Dick, he say to Miss Betty, ‘We ’ll set 
yer, right at de do’ ob de unnergroun’ railroad, 
an’ ef anybody comes Tong, we won’t let ’em git 
past.’” Harriet went off in another gale, and, 
when it was over, said, “Massa S’dan, he ken try 
his bes’, he ain’t no match fo’ li’ll Massa Dick! 
B’lieve Mass’ Dick ’d heabe de hull Timberkins at 
’im fo’ he ’d ’a’ let ’im in at dat tunnle do’ ! So 
de chillun dey stuck dah, an’ de gentle’m w’at was 
takin’ chahge o’ me, he says I bes’ come back, coze 
de huntin’ party ’s off de track! ” 

“Well! ’’Mrs. Stanwood exclaimed over and over 
again, and seemed unable to say anything more. 

“Ya-as ’m!” said Harriet again, swinging her 
arms, and in high glee. “Dat ’s w’at he said, when 
I tole ’im I wan’t a-gwine to quit yer. It ’s de 
safes’ place now , missus! Dat ole Massa Lock’d 
S’dan ain’t a-gwine to cotch me! Dat gentlem’ 
wid de style,” she pointed to her own hair signifi- 


32 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


cantly, “he’s spen’in’ his time now walkin’ roun’ 
de house, an’ ef Massa S’ dan ’pears to want to call 
agin on Miss Hawyet Wilson, he ’s gwine to come 
roun’ froo de back gate an’ take me clean off in a 
’spectable way. I ’m gwine to git my bunnit an’ 
shawl an’ hab ’em handy. So, Miss Peggy, ef yo’ 
yers de do ’bell ring, keep ’em waitin’ twell I gets 
into de tunn’l, — yo’ yer dat? But I ain’t afeerd 
of his cornin’ ! He ’s had ’nough o’ dis place an’ 
he ain’t a-gwine to call agin. Law suz! Don’t you 
be afeerd for me , missus! 1 ain’t a-gwine Souf for 
my weddin’ trip! ” 


CHAPTER II. 


FRIENDS AND FRIENDS. 

The Desborough family were conventional. 
They might be called conventionally correct in all 
their ways. They had plenty of money and lived 
in Fourteenth Street, near Union Square, where 
they felt their surroundings to be aristocratic. All 
the furnishings and appointments of the house, its 
service, and customs, were elegant and proper. 
The coachman and footman wore quiet liveries, the 
coat of arms on the carriages and harness were in- 
conspicuous. It was carefully painted or attached 
wherever coats of arms ought to be, but never ob- 
trusive. The family pedigree was most important ; 
Mrs. Desborougli especially enjoyed it, and guarded 
it, but she made an effort not to obtrude it. Some- 
times a quiet assertion of it was necessary, but it 
must be made in good taste. Everything in the 
Desborougli family must be done in good taste. 
There was never an occasion known when Mrs. 
Desborough and her daughter Grace, who was nine- 
teen, and Eloise, who was only eleven, were not 
dressed in the best of taste, and in what was exactly 
suitable. It worried Mrs. Desborough because 
Grace showed so little interest in her apparel, but 
she was entirely tractable and wore contentedly 


34 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


whatever her mother provided, and that was a com- 
fort. Mrs. Desborough was a nervous, thin, wiry 
little lady of forty-three, with a pale face, brown 
eyes, and a chin which punctuated her feelings in 
an upward hitch when she was excited. Her hair 
was light brown and always handsomely dressed in 
a French twist, which gave her an air of distinc- 
tion. She had a restless way of using her hands, 
and wore few rings, but the jewels in them were 
superb. Her husband was forty-eight, rather tall, 
with a large frame, which could be stately to a de- 
gree, but when off guard bent itself to a kindly 
level with genial, good-natured people. He had 
thin, dark hair, was bald on the crown, and wore 
whiskers, but no mustache, — a fortunate custom, 
because his mouth was decidedly his best feature. 
His son Horace was a handsome likeness of him, a 
little overtopping him in height, erect, with a touch 
of haughtiness in his bearing. His hair was light, 
curling in loose rings about his broad forehead, his 
eyes dark, like his mother’s. Sitting at the end of 
the family pew in a not too fashionable Episcopal 
church, Mr. Desborough looked satisfied, perhaps 
with his family rather than with other things, but 
only a keen observer would take note of the fact in 
his contented glances along the line, from his son 
next to him, to his wife at the further end. To 
Mrs. Desborough the pew was an intense satisfac- 
tion. Her seat in it was to her a sort of society 
throne ; when she entered the pew and settled her- 
self, after her short, silent prayer, she had an unde- 
finable sensation of settling into her secure and most 


FRIENDS AND FRIENDS. 


35 


satisfactory position in society. When the pew 
was full, with Horace and his father in their seats, 
Mrs. Desborough’s face was more near to looking 
placid than at any other time, but this supreme 
hour came only occasionally, for the gentlemen of 
the family attended church irregularly, and Eloise 
was an adept at getting up excuses for staying at 
home. Grace was the most regular of any of the 
family in her attendance at church. She loved the 
pew because she was devout and gave much thought 
and care to her soul, perhaps because it was so white 
and spotless that it could have done better than most 
souls if left alone. 

Nervous headaches often interfered with Mrs. 
Desborough’s attendance at church. She had suf- 
fered recently from an unusual number of them, 
owing to a long-continued effort on her part to solve 
a difficult social problem. The problem was how to 
protect her family from too great an intimacy with 
the Stan woods. Rachel Stan wood and Grace Des- 
borough had met at a French class to which they 
both belonged, and their acquaintance was ripening 
into friendship at full speed. Also Eloise Des- 
borough and Elizabeth Stanwood attended the same 
school, and had more to do with each other than 
Mrs. Desborough wished. She was less troubled 
about the latter intimacy, because of what she called 
the strength of Eloise ’s character. Perhaps the 
Stanwoods and some others might have associated 
the strength with certain qualities of worldliness 
which were prominent in the disposition of the 
youthful Eloise, but her mother regarded it as a 


86 


RACHEL STANWOOD. 


shield to protect its possessor from contamination. 
Traced to the foundation, the contamination feared 
by Mrs. Desborough, and also by her husband and 
son, was that arising from abolitionism. That, to 
their minds, meant fanaticism, rebellion, anarchy, 
and what placed its followers under the ban of so- 
ciety. In the first days of the children’s acquain- 
tance, Eloise reported a conversation at recess be- 
tween the members of her class as to the forms of 
religious worship represented among them. “What 
are you?” had gone the rounds, as a matter of 
course, and had been answered in the usual way by 
the children: “I’m Episcopal;” “I ’m Presbyter- 
ian;” “I’m High Church;” “I ’m Low Church,” 
etc., until it reached Elizabeth, and she had an- 
swered, “I ’m an Abolitionist.” “And then , 
mamma, none of the girls would speak to her, and 
she had to eat her lunch all alone,” Eloise said. 

“Grace! ” Mrs. Desborough had afterwards said, 
in a tone of consternation, “Eloise says those Stan- 
woods are abolitionists 1 ” and Grace had disap- 
pointed her mother by saying, “I know they are, 
mamma, and they are lovely people. You ought to 
know Rachel ! ” 

But there was just the rub, — Mrs. Desborough 
did not want to know Rachel, or to have Grace 
know her, or to have Eloise know Elizabeth. “We 
don’t want to know such people,” she said. 

It was not that the Desborouglis were supporters 
of slavery ; they looked upon the institution as an 
evil, and wished that it did not exist, but to resist 
it was to place themselves in antagonism to a peace- 


FBIENDS AND FBIENDS. 


37 


ful state of things; to join a class of people who 
were obnoxious, and to become obnoxious them- 
selves to the society of which they were a part. 
However dreadful the system of slavery might be, 
it was not their — the Desboroughs’ — business to 
try to uproot it. There was every reason against 
their cultivation of intimacies or placing themselves 
in surroundings which might in any way identify 
them with the movement to abolish it. Mr. Des- 
borough was the senior partner of the distinguished 
firm of lawyers, Desborough and Bristol, and it 
would be derogatory to his reputation in business 
circles to be connected, excepting in a distant way, 
with so unpopular a cause as that of abolitionism. 
Horace Desborough had been a member of the bar 
for only a year, and Messrs. Gray thorn and Ben- 
derly, the prominent firm to which he had been ad- 
mitted, were openly and bitterly pro-slavery in their 
sentiments. 

On every account, therefore, Mr. and Mrs. Des- 
borough regretted the acquaintance of their daugh- 
ters with the Stanwoods, and wished to clog the 
wheels which were driving them toward a closer re- 
lation. But there was a serious difficulty in their 
way, and that was in the popularity of Rachel 
Stan wood. The French class which she had been 
invited to join (imprudently invited, Mrs. Desbor- 
ough and most of the mothers thought), was a most 
select one, the members of it, with the exception of 
Miss Stanwood, belonging to families of wealth and 
high position. And yet, of all the class, Rachel 
Stanwood, its one black sheep, was the most popu- 


38 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


lar and influential member! The others began by 
placing her upon a formal footing, but, when she 
was discovered to be more proficient than they were, 
when it proved to be she who waked up an interest 
in the conversations and created all the enthusiasm 
there was, what could the class do? After the les- 
son was over, it became entertaining to converse in 
English with Miss Stan wood. She always had an 
idea to give where one was wanted, whether it was 
a suggestion of something new to make for a fair, 
an inspiring book to read, the deeper beauty of an 
old piece of music to pit against the weakness of 
something modern, or the like. Grace Desbor- 
ough’s passionless blue eyes deepened, and peach- 
bloom came into her cheeks as she listened to Ra- 
chel, and by and by, as the acquaintance grew, as 
calls began to be interchanged, and she saw Rachel 
in her own home, she caught glimpses of a life that 
meant purpose. In Grace’s bosom there kindled a 
little fire which had never been lighted before, and 
by the time her mother perceived and wanted to 
quench it, it was too late. 

It was the latter part of October, and, after much 
debate, the fatnily had, as a concession to Grace, 
crossed their small social channel and accepted an 
invitation to a party at the Stan woods’. Mr. Des- 
borougli had yielded because the thing most difficult 
for him to do was to resist his daughter Grace. 
She was so gentle and yielding, so rarely expressed 
a wish which pertained to her own individual plea- 
sure, was invariably so ready to lose her own desires 
in those of others, that her father longed to gratify 


FRIENDS AND FRIENDS. 


39 


her. When she made her feeble point of asking 
him and her mother to accept this invitation, there 
had been in her face a plea for her friend which 
touched her father’s heart in its most vulnerable 
place, and he had promised to go with her to the 
Stanwoods’. He conferred with his wife and Hor- 
ace, announced that Grace did not often make a re- 
quest, and that it was only fair to gratify her. He 
said they could avoid conversation upon dangerous 
topics, and could maintain formal relations with the 
Stanwoods as easily if they went as if they stayed 
away. His wife yielded because she learned through 
Horace that the Kiverstons were going. They were 
one of the oldest and most aristocratic of New York 
families, and had a pew at Grace Church. Horace 
was strongest in his opposition, but when he found 
that his parents had decided to go, he announced his 
intention to accompany them. 

“Since you persist, mamma, in sealing the pres- 
ent connection and beginning one on your own ac- 
count, I prefer to go and look after Grace,” he 
said. 

On the appointed evening, Grace, the first to be 
ready, was in the parlor tying together a bunch of 
superb roses. She was an attractive little person, 
with a trim figure, an oval face, dark eyes and 
lashes, and most beautiful golden hair. She wore 
a dress of white crepe, made with simple folds 
crossed over her bosom and no garnishings save a 
little rare lace at the neck and wrists. There was 
an unusual glow upon her face, and an anxious look 
swept over it as she heard her brother’s step coming 


40 


RACHEL STANWOOD. 


down stairs. Grace was afraid of her brother’s 
criticism. She did not escape it. 

“Your flowers are too many to wear, Grace,” he 
said, bending down to smell them. “Leave some 
at home, do.” 

“I ’m not going to wear any at all; they are for 
Rachel,” she said, smiling. Horace looked annoyed 
and said, “Are you studying Quaker simplicity, 
then? Your dress looks more like a nun’s than one 
for a party. But it ’s all right, considering where 
you are taking us. Grace,” he said, with a new 
tone of seriousness, “be careful. It is a great re- 
sponsibility for you to draw the family into this 
acquaintance. Why do you take Miss Stanwood 
flowers? It will be very easy for you to lead her 
on to expect more attention from you than you will 
care to give her by and by. Keep her where she 
is, and don’t spoil her by ” — 

“Oh, Horace!” cried Grace. “Wait until you 
see her before you talk so. ‘Spoil’ her / And 
‘ lead ’ her! Twenty thousand me’s couldn’t spoil 
her, and if there ’s any leading to do, why she ’ll be 
the one, not I, to do it. But no matter ! I ’m not 
going to say another word about her ; all I want is 
to have you judge for yourself. And there ’s one 
comfort” — putting her flowers down to reach her 
hands up to her brother’s shoulders, and, with a 
sudden gayety which was irresistibly pretty, laugh- 
ing up into his face. 

“What is it, little girl? ” Horace asked, smiling. 

“Why even she can’t spoil you , dear, and you ’ll 
keep the family straight in spite of poor little me,” 
she said, and really believed it. 


FRIENDS AND FRIENDS. 


41 


Little me’ must help, all the same,” said Hor- 
ace, kissing her. “ And she must get into her wraps, 
for the carriage has been waiting some time, and 
here comes mamma.” 

Half an hour later they were in the Stan woods’ 
parlor. A small company of some thirty or forty 
people were assembled, and in the prevailing simpli- 
city, most of the ladies having on gowns of cashmere 
or silks of quiet colors, with a goodly number in reg- 
ular Quaker kerchief and cap, Mrs. Desborough’s 
rich lavender silk and lace were conspicuous. 

Besides the silk and lace Mrs. Desborough had on 
her social armor, but the welcome of her host and 
hostess set the armor at defiance and made it use- 
less. 

“Grace, I am glad to see thee,” Mrs. Stanwood 
said, her pleasure evident in every line of her face. 
“ And gladder still that thee has brought with thee 
thy mother — and father — and brother. ” She gave 
her hand to each in the pauses. “ They have broken 
the ice and we shall expect them now to claim the 
freedom of friends and come often.” Mr. Stanwood 
followed up his wife’s welcome, saying, “That is 
sound doctrine, friends, and you cannot claim more 
than we will give ; we owe more, on both sides, to a 
friendship which begins with a bond between our 
children.” 

It took Mrs. Desborough time to recover from 
speeches like these. And the awkwardness of it! 
Mr. Stanwood had kept Mrs. Desborough’s hand in 
his right one, had given his left to her husband, and 
held on to both of them while he looked from one to 


42 


RACHEL STANWOOD. 


the other as if they were making a compact. And 
to be received as secondary to their daughter, 
“brought” by her; and “bonds” and “claims” 
thrown at them — what a piece of awkwardness it 
all was ! The Desboroughs were not in the attitude 
of making claims of any description whatever upon 
the Stanwoods. They had come there to give, not 
to receive. Yes, it was necessary for Mrs. Des- 
borough to recover a little and she looked at her 
husband for an interchange of expression. He was 
being introduced to a little lady in a cap of rich lace, 
whose rather large, plain features upturned to him 
were full of kindliness. “ Cinderella’s godmother ! ” 
Mrs. Desborough thought, as she sat down upon a 
sofa by the folding-door and bent her head to a lady 
already seated upon it, to whom she had been pre- 
sented, but whose name she had lost. 

“My brother, Miss Stanwood,” Grace was say- 
ing on the other side of the room. Horace gave up 
the bow he had saved for Rachel, and bowed before 
her as if she were a princess. Grace might wear 
her costliest gown and handsomest jewels, but she 
could not look like that. Rachel, standing there, 
had a dignity and graciousness which seemed a nat- 
ural birthright. It made no difference what she 
wore ; Horace forgot to notice. Rachel, after pre- 
senting him to the little group of which she was the 
centre, said, continuing a conversation which had 
evidently been interrupted, “It is an awful question, 
but, if it had to he answered, I would ” — 

“ W ait a minute, before thee says what thee would 
say,” said a young man whom Rachel had called Mr. 


FRIENDS AND FRIENDS. 43 

Hedges. “It is only fair that Mr. Desborough 
should understand what we are talking about.” 

“What is the question? ‘To be, or not to be? ’ ” 
asked Horace. 

“Very nearly that to the person most interested,” 
said Mr. Hedges. “It is this: if you had a runa- 
way slave concealed in your house, and if the officer 
in pursuit of him should come with a warrant to 
search the premises and should say to you, ‘I will 
take your word for it, if you will answer this ques- 
tions Is the fugitive under your roof?’ What 
would you say? ” 

“You are assuming that the answerer wishes to 
protect the slave, but not his master?” asked Hor- 
ace. 

“Of course! Of course! ” cried everybody in the 
group at once. 

“Protect the master from what?” asked Rachel, 
a little coldly. 

“Injustice, perhaps?” asked Horace. 

“ Injustice /” whispered two Quaker girls in 
white, looking at each other in dismay. 

“I would protect him from more than injustice, 
— I would save him from committing the crime of 
dooming a person to slavery,” said Mr. Hedges, 
quietly, looking at Horace as if he pitied him. 
There was a murmur of sympathy from the group, 
excepting from Rachel, whose eyes looked search- 
ingly at Horace. 

“How about the crime of withholding a man’s 
property from him?” asked Horace. 

“Thee calls it that f ” asked Susy Morton, one of 


44 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


the girls in white. She opened her round eyes at 
him, and her lips remained parted in horror. “ Does 
thee believe in slavery, then ? ” asked another of the 
young girls. 

He flushed as he saw the impression he had pro- 
duced, and made an effort to explain. “Oh, no, — • 
not at all,” he said. “I look upon it as an evil, — 
a great evil, and should be glad if it did not exist. 
I should be sorry to return a slave to the South, 
but” — they were all intent upon what he was go- 
ing to say — “ if one had taken refuge with me,, and 
his owner came to inquire for him, I might feel 
it my duty to give him up. Every person is en- 
titled to what belongs to him, and I consider that 
a slave-owner has the same right to reclaim a slave 
who has escaped from him that any of you would 
have to reclaim a horse, or any property which 
might be stolen from you.” 

There was an outburst of protest and opinion. 
Horace wanted Miss Stanwood to speak. He had 
addressed himself principally to her and she had 
looked at him with that steady gaze, as if she were 
listening to somebody who belonged to another 
world than hers, who had nothing in common with 
her. He longed to change the expression of her 
eyes, to put himself at least inside the threshold of 
her world. She had not moved, but the color in 
her cheeks had deepened and with Grace’s roses, 
which she held against her dress, — Horace noticed 
now its delicate pearl-gray tint, — he thought he 
had never seen any one half so beautiful. 

But the murmurs of dissent had not subsided 


FRIENDS AND FRIENDS. 


45 


when Mrs. Stan wood came with an interruption 
which scattered the group. 

“Mr. Desborough ! ” she exclaimed, with sudden 
energy, “thee is the very person whom we want. 
Will thee come this way with me? Follow us, Ra- 
chel; I want thee, too.” 

Horace would have offered Mrs. Stanwood his 
arm, but she kept her plump little hand upon his 
wrist and drew him away to a rosy-faced, stout lady 
in Quaker dress, who had been having brisk conver- 
sations on important business with different people 
in the room. She was writing some memoranda in 
a notebook, and was so intent that Mrs. Stanwood 
and Horace waited until she was through. Then 
she looked into their faces with an expression which 
seemed to call them up as next in order on a list. 
Horace felt a little like the slave whose case he had 
just been considering, for Mrs. Stanwood had taken 
possession of him and seemed to deliver him to the 
Quaker lady, as she said, “Here is exactly the right 
person for thy committee on decorations, Hannah. 
He is Grace Desborough’ s brother Horace. When 
thee has told him what thee has for him to do, in- 
troduce him to the others on the committee.” She 
was off before Horace could speak, to meet Ra- 
chel, who had followed part way across the room. 
Horace wished that he could return to her, but he 
felt himself in the clutches of the committee lady. 

Rachel waited for her mother to dispose of Mr. 
Desborough, and then they went together to the back 
end of the hall. 

“I want thee to talk with Mrs. Riverston on busi- 


46 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


ness,” Mrs. Stanwood said, pushing to a door which 
led into the back parlor. 

“ Oh, mother !” Rachel exclaimed softly. “I’m 
in mortal terror of both Mrs. and Miss River ston ! ” 

“Nonsense! How ridiculous!” said her mother 
laughing. “Afraid of Mrs. Riverston, and yet 
able to face that slaveholder the other day ! Thee 
was not afraid of him! ” 

“Of course not!” exclaimed Rachel with deci- 
sion. “He was wrong, — he wanted to commit a 
crime, and we were bound to save Harriet. I had 
no chance to think of myself then, but, if I had, it 
would have been to feel my own superiority. In 
the Riverston presence I ’m less than nobody. 
‘They carry too much sail,’ as Will Hedges says. 
They bear down upon me with their grandeur, and I 
go under.” 

Mrs. Stanwood laughed gently up in her daugh- 
ter’s face and said, with good-natured derision: — 

“ Thee nobody ! I don’t think thee could really 
feel thyself nobody in the presence of a Riverston, 
Rachel. They want our help just now in a little 
matter of charity, and Mrs. Riverston has only just 
said to me that ‘my daughter, with her great force 
of character, would be just the person to attend to 
it.’ Indeed, she gave me the impression that she 
was rather afraid of thee.” 

“Oh, so she is, in a way,” said Rachel. “She 
looked daggers at me awhile ago, when her son, 
Burton, was talking to me. She and her daughter 
both despise me, mammy dear, and there is no get- 
ting around the fact ; but what does she want me to 


FRIENDS AND FRIENDS. 


47 


do? I ’m ready for her, and I ’ll smother my feel- 
ings, — don’t be worried.” And Rachel straight- 
ened her mother’s little white silk shawl, which 
might have been a hair’s breadth out of the way, 
and smiled at her. 

“They are in trouble about a young Scotch girl 
whom they have brought here with them. She has 
a wonderful voice, they say, and some fashionable 
ladies have been dressing her up and getting her to 
sing at their parties. The Riverstons expected to 
make a great singer out of her, but they have come 
to a stopping-place, and don’t know what to do with 
her. I told Mrs. Riverston that I did not under- 
stand anything about music, but would consult my 
daughter. The poor girl has no friends, and ” — 

“And the Riverstons are tired of her and would 
like to pass her over to us, — 1 see, mother,” said 
Rachel, a little haughtily. “Well! ” she sighed as 
she looked down at her mother’s perplexed face. 
They were quite alone in the corner, and Rachel, 
with a pretty caress, put her arms about her mother 
and said, — 

“When everybody else gives a poor thing up, 
then it ’s little mammy’s turn. If the Scotch girl 
hasn’t any friends in the world, then she is on the 
eve of having the best one the world can produce 
for her! Shall we have her for a cook? or a cham- 
bermaid? Or shall we have to let her take in 
sewing to enable us to keep her? But there! It’s 
all right, mother dear.” Straightening her shawl 
again and kissing her forehead, “Thee go to the 
company and I ’ll find Mrs. Riverston.” She found 


48 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


the lady near the front parlor windows, in all her 
splendor, a mountain of black lace. She was a tall, 
large, showy woman, with a weak face. Her hair, 
in gray puffs over her temples, made her head look 
a little too large. She stood very erect, with her 
head thrown back and to one side. Rachel had 
more listening to do than talking. It was as she 
had supposed ; the lady was anxious to pass over to 
Mrs. Stan wood a case which was evidently trouble- 
some. In fact she was rather desirous of dropping 
all responsibility for the person in question, for when 
Rachel gave it as her opinion that a fine voice ought 
to be cultivated, and suggested consulting her music 
teacher, Herr Kreutsohn, Mrs. River ston caught 
her up, saying, “ That is exactly what I would ad- 
vise, Miss Stanwood. Your judgment is excellent, 
and I hope that your protegee will profit by it.” 
Rachel did not reply, she only admired Mrs. River- 
ston’s skill in presenting her with a protegee whom 
she had not seen. Meanwhile the Scotch girl, from 
the window recess close by, was scowling at Mrs. 
Riverston’s back, with an expression which might 
justify that lady’s desire to pass her along to some- 
body else. 

“ What is that Quaker lady doing with Horace ? 
Why doesn’t he stay with Grace, and where is 
she?” Mrs. Desborough was wondering, from her 
sofa. But the lady beside her was telling her some- 
thing about a place called Brook Farm, and she 
wanted to hear. 

Horace was interested in that conversation about 
the slave, and did not like being taken away from it. 


FRIENDS AND FRIENDS . 


49 


He wanted to know what Rachel would have an- 
swered to that question. However, she, too, had 
been driven away, and the thought that any talk 
with her just now was impossible made it easier for 
him to transfer his attention to the “committee 
lady,” whose surname had not been given to him. 
She was looking into his face, waiting for him to 
speak. 

“I beg your pardon, madam,” he said, chagrined 
at being caught off guard. “I did not hear; I am 
afraid I was preoccupied; did you ask me some- 
thing? ” 

“Yes, I asked if thee was a good carpenter,” she 
said. 

Horace wondered if she was in her right mind. 
“I — I have not been trained in the business,” he 
said, flushing. 

“But thee can saw a board and hammer nails? 
Of course. Then I ’ll put thee down as chairman 
of” — she was saying placidly, but Horace ex- 
claimed, seeing her pencil ready to make an entry 
in the little book, “Oh, wait, I beg, madam! 
Chairman of what, pray? And how can I consent 
without understanding?” 

“Oh, easily,” said the lady, writing down his 
name. “Thee can consent first, and I ’ll get Ra- 
chel Stanwood to explain afterward. There she is, 
talking with Mrs. Riverston. And there are the 
Hutchinsons just beyond. I want them to sing for 
the cause, so come and I will invite them to do it, 
while thee tells Rachel that thee is chairman of 
her committee, and asks her all the questions thee 


50 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


wants to.” She took his arm and led him toward 
the group, which they reached just as she was an- 
swering his question, again repeated, “ Chairman of 
what? ” 

“The committee on decoration for the Anti- 
Slavery Fair,” she said, and touched Rachel’s arm 
to say to her, “When thee is through with what 
thee is saying to Mrs. Riverston, explain to Grace 
Desborough’s brother his duties on the decoration 
committee, — he ’s chairman of it.” And the busy 
little woman whisked off as if her stint with Horace 
was accomplished and she had handed him over to 
Rachel for the finishing touches. 

Mr. Stanwood coming to say something to Mrs. 
Riverston, Rachel turned to Horace. He had 
meant to decline positively, as a matter of course, 
to serve on any committee, anywhere. But Rachel 
was looking up at him with surprise and pleasure on 
her face, saying, “Oh, thank you so much! It is 
so hard to get gentlemen! ” 

Here she was, placing him where, a little while 
ago, he had wanted to be, — within the boundary of 
her interests. He would not refuse yet to remain 
there. He longed to hear her talk and would not 
deny himself the opportunity, but would listen to all 
she had to say about the work of that committee, 
before he made known his inability to share in it. 

“Hard to get gentlemen?” he asked, adding, 
“There is the lady who appointed me, talking to 
three now ; may be she is putting them on the com- 
mittee, too.” 

“Oh no, never! ” said Rachel laughing. “Those 


FRIENDS AND FRIENDS. 


51 


are the Hutchinsons ; they will sing for us, but we 
cannot ask them to work! It is very kind of you, 
Mr. Desborough, to be so self-sacrificing. And if 
Grace takes part, too, that will be delightful! ” 

“Is Grace on a committee, Miss Stanwood?” 
asked Horace, in alarm. 

“Not that I know,” said Rachel, “but we can 
have her upon ours, if she would like it.” 

“Not for the world!” said Horace impulsively. 
“I’d rather — that is, my sister is unaccustomed to 
serving on committees, and I think, at home, they 
would not approve of her doing so.” He again post- 
poned a protest on his own behalf, rather enjoying 
Rachel’s appropriation of him in calling the com- 
mittee theirs. 

“Perhaps you, too, would disapprove,” said Ra- 
chel, becoming grave. “You were saying things 
awhile ago about the rights of slaveholders to come 
North and hunt runaway slaves. I was surprised, 
on top of that, to hear Aunt Hannah say you were 
going to work with us. I thought perhaps I had 
misunderstood. Aren’t you an abolitionist?” 

“Not exactly,” said Horace, wishing that she, 
too, would postpone troublesome thoughts a little. 

“Are you pro-slavery, — all but Grace?” she 
asked quickly. 

“Oh, no, you don’t understand, Miss Stan- 
wood!” Horace exclaimed. Her face looked for- 
bidding again, and he wanted to avoid differences 
between them. He was not going to cultivate 
Grace’s friend, but something made him, at least, 
not wish to stand ill with her ; he wished to make a 


52 


BACHEL STAN WOOD. 


good impression. So he hastened to say, “We do 
not call ourselves members of any party which is 
actively engaged in the suppression of slavery. I 
think my sister Grace would certainly not go so far 
as to desire to be associated with such a party. 
But,” he tried to make this statement impressive, 
“we should all be devoutly glad if the institution of 
slavery did not exist. As it does exist, dnd.' to 
oppose it would ” — 

“Well? ’’asked Rachel, as he hesitated, “MJjiat 
would it do to you to oppose what you tliink 
wrong?” 

She was not in the least bold, she was simply 
waiting to hear what he was going to say. He 
looked at her, thought how clear and honest her eyes 
were, and remembering what a pretty light had 
come into them when she thanked him for joining 
her committee, he wanted to make it come again. 
But he felt himself on the wrong track. 

“Nothing,” he said, “but I don’t believe in 
things which stir up the community.” 

“You might word it as they do sometimes among 
the Quakers,” Rachel said dryly. “‘Things which 
are calculated to create opposition and sow discord 
among friends.’ Then you had better withdraw 
from our fair work as quickly as possible, Mr. 
Desborough, for its entire object is to stir up the 
community.” 

“Tell me more about the work,” he said. “You 
cannot expect me to desert a committee when all I 
have learned about it is the fact that it is difficult 
to obtain the help you need. Mrs. — Miss — the 


FRIENDS AND FRIENDS. 


53 


lady who gave me my office, said you would instruct 
me; when will you give me my first lesson, Miss 
Stan wood? ” 

“On Tuesday evening at eight o’clock, when the 
committee meets here,” said Rachel, hastily throw- 
ing the opportunity at him, as she saw a general stir 
among the guests and knew they could not talk any 
longer. “But don’t come, if you think better of it, 
Mr. Desborough,” she said sarcastically, as she was 
moving away. “We have plenty of women to do 
the work, and can get along perfectly well.” 

“Without me,” Horace added to himself, as she 
bowed and left him. 

“Look at my Lord Duke! ” whispered Susy Mor- 
ton to Martha Quimby. “He looks glum. I don’t 
believe he got along with Ray very well.” 

“I guess it ’s mutual; she looked like a thunder- 
cloud,” said Martha. 

Three poetic - looking young gentlemen placed 
themselves in a row, close by Horace, who immedi- 
ately crossed over to a place behind his mother’s 
sofa. The people rustled into places, and “The 
Hutchinsons are going to sing,” was repeated from 
one to another. 

The three young men smiled at the company in a 
genial way, as if they were confident of pleasing 
them, and, looking at one another, began to sing. 
Their first song announced them, — 

“ We ’re a band of brothers, 

We ’re a band of brothers, 

We ’re a band of brothers 
From the Old Granite State.” 


54 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


In more verses, the song went on to tell their 
names and that they had “ come from the mountains 
of the Old Granite State ” to join the anti -slavery 
party and to help break the chains of bondage. 
Their voices were clear and pleasing, and they sang 
in harmony, pronouncing every word so that it was 
understood without effort. There was a piano in 
the room, but they used it to strike the key only, 
and sang without accompaniment. When the song 
was ended there were murmurs of gratification 
throughout the two rooms. But little applause was 
expressed in the clapping of hands. 

“ Have you been to the Castle Garden concerts?” 
Mrs. Desborough asked her companion on the sofa 
where she still sat. The lady who had been her 
first companion there had gone to make one of a 
changing group who continually surrounded Miss 
Bremer. The gentleman now talking to Mrs. Des- 
borough had a very bald head and a face remark- 
able for its strength and benignity. 

He had listened to the singing with particular 
enjoyment. He did not hear Mrs. Desborough’s re- 
mark, for his eyes had lighted upon Elizabeth and 
Richard Stanwood, who were seated upon two little 
benches, backed up against a lady with an exceed- 
ingly pleasant face. There was upon it a glow of 
kindliness which seemed to take in every person in 
the room, as she turned it from one to another di- 
rection. Her light brown hair, streaked with gray, 
was brushed down on her temples in loops which 
came low on her cheeks before they were turned 
up behind her ears. She wore a cap which covered 


FRIENDS AND FRIENDS. 


55 


only the back of her head on top, but it had frilled 
ear-tabs which came forward over her ears to meet 
the soft loops of hair. The Hutchinsons, joined by 
their sweet-faced sister, Abby, sang another short 
song beginning with, — 

“ Ho ! the ear Emancipation 
Rides triumphant through the nation.” 

The children sat motionless through it, Betty in 
a day-dream, without the least idea where she was, 
Dick with burning red cheeks and little fists 
clenched. 

“There is the real fire of abolitionism just start- 
ing,” said Mrs. Desborough ’s companion to her, 
drawing her attention to Dick. “And no place could 
be more fitting for the kindling of such fires than at 
that lady’s feet.” 

“Indeed?” asked Mrs. Desborough, looking at 
the lady through her eyeglasses. “She looks too 
amiable to kindle such fires ; may I ask who she is ? ” 

“She is Lydia Maria Child,” answered the gen- 
tleman. “Have you read her ‘Letters from New 
York’?” 

“No, I have not. What ‘Child’? That is a 
New England name, is it not?” asked Mrs. Des- 
borough. 

“She is the wife of David Lee Child, the gentle- 
man by the mantelpiece, who looks like Thorwald- 
sen, — one of the stanchest abolitionists in the 
room,” said the gentleman. 

“Indeed?” asked Mrs. Desborough, trying to 
look interested. “And who is the very handsome 
gentleman speaking to Mrs. Child?” 


56 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


“Oh, he?” exclaimed the gentleman, his face 
lighting up all over. “He is one who has done, and 
is doing, a mighty work for the anti-slavery cause. 
He has come to us from England to help, as only 
he can help, to lift up the downtrodden Africans.” 

The gentleman went forward eagerly to meet Mr. 
George Thompson, M. P., who advanced with both 
hands held out to him. 

“Horace,” said Mrs. Desborough, looking up 
over her shoulder to her son, who bent down to hear 
her say in an undertone : — 

“Do find out who some of these people are. That 
gentleman who has just left me tells me nothing but 
that they are abolitionists. Who is he, to begin 
with? And who is the magnificent-looking gentle- 
man just coming toward us with the little dark-eyed 
Quaker lady ? I would like him to be introduced to 
me, Horace; he looks distinguished and I am sure 
he is not an abolitionist.” 

Horace stepped back and joined his friend Burt 
Riverston, who was always sure to know who every- 
body was. 

Tea, coffee, and chocolate were being passed by 
the young men and girls in the company. 

“Mamma,” whispered Horace, handing her a cup 
of chocolate, “your friend with the bald head is 
William Lloyd Garrison; the dark-eyed little 
Quaker lady is Mrs. Lucretia Mott, and the distin- 
guished-looking gentleman whom you wish pre- 
sented to you, and who you think is not an aboli- 
tionist, is Wendell Phillips! ” 

“Good heavens!” whispered Mrs. Desborough, 


FRIENDS AND FRIENDS. 


57 


as she rose with her chocolate. “We are in a hot- 
bed of them. Let us go, Horace. Where are your 
father and Grace? ” 

But Horace was not in a hurry to go. He had 
had a spirited conversation with two or three of 
the young Quaker girls, and he wanted a few more 
words with Rachel. 

“Whatever the people are, mamma, they are 
wide-awake and interesting,” he said. “Even the 
children seem that.” 

“The children ought to be in bed,” said Mrs. 
Desborough. 

“Generally they are at this hour,” said Mrs. 
Mott, who overheard, and came to sit down upon 
the seat Mr. Garrison had left, just as Elizabeth 
steered her way, with a plate of cakes, around Mrs. 
Desborough’ s skirts. As that lady moved to see 
what the child was about, her dress swept a few of 
the cakes upon the floor. 

“Never mind, dear!” said Mrs. Mott, kindly, 
holding out her hand. “Let me have the plate 
while thee picks up what fell, before anybody steps 
on it. That ’s it! No, dear, we won’t put it back 
with the rest, — put it on my plate. Now hand some 
to this friend.” Then to Mrs. Desborough: “Will 
thee sit down ? And will thee be so good as to tell 
me thy name? Mine is Mott, — Lucretia Mott.” 

Mrs. Desborough sat down again, and in the sun- 
shine of Mrs. Mott recovered her amiability, which 
had tottered considerably when the cake fell. 

Richard, following in his sister’s wake, ducked 
under Mr. Garrison’s elbow with a silver basket full 


58 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


of home-made sponge cake, which he offered to the 
two ladies. Mrs. Mott remarked upon its tempting 
quality. Richard announced with pride, “Sister 
Rachel made it.” 

The room hushed again for another song by the 
Hutchinsons. It was like the others, about the 
wrong of slavery and the inevitable day which was 
to dawn at last upon universal liberty. 

In the back parlor, farthest away from the singers, 
Grace Desborough stood apart and listened. Before 
the singing Susy Morton had pointed out to her, at 
work in the china closet, a fine-looking woman, as 
light as any brunette and with straight hair gath- 
ered prettily into a knot at the back of her head. 
Grace was horrified by the information that the 
woman was a fugitive slave, who had escaped with 
her little girl at the same time with Harriet Wilson 
and from the same master. Susy also told Grace, 
with much spirit, the story of Harriet’s escape on 
the day when her master had come to search the 
Stan woods’ house for her, and the part the children, 
Elizabeth and Richard, had played in it. 

The face of the young slave-mother wore an ex- 
pression of peculiar sadness; it looked as if it had 
lost the power to smile. The song awakened in it 
no interest, although its owner listened attentively. 
But to Grace, watching that face, which looked to 
her hopeless in its sorrow, the song was stirring. 
Its joyous notes and words of expectation became to 
her a beseeching cry for liberty. Her eyes filled 
with tears. She felt for her handkerchief, and turn- 
ing aside, that her emotion might not be observed, 


FRIENDS AND FRIENDS. 


59 


she found herself face to face with the young man 
whom Rachel had introduced to her as Mr. William 
Hedges. 

“Have you seen these pictures, Miss Desbor- 
ough? ” he asked quickly, drawing her attention to 
two fine oil paintings on the wall. “They are fine 
copies of two of Moreland’s, and you cannot often 
have a chance to see the like. They are called 
‘Winter 9 and ‘Summer.’ The ‘Winter ’ appeals to 
me the most, with the sheep in the fold, the glimpses 
of winter landscape, and the old farmer looking so 
content.” 

“Yes,” said Grace, relieved to think that possibly 
he had not noticed her tears, and wiping them away 
surreptitiously. She allowed him to talk on about 
the pictures, and stood where she could use him as 
a shield, for she was in a sensitive state of mind, and 
it was hard to control herself. She had come to the 
party light-hearted and full of hope that her parents 
and brother were going to see the Stanwoods as she 
saw them. But her father was giving all his atten- 
tion to the Riverstons, her mother had remained in 
her seat and the expression of her face meant criti- 
cism. Horace had had a fine chance to talk with 
Rachel, but he looked annoyed, not pleased, when 
she left him. 

Grace had a hurt feeling that, instead of perceiv- 
ing any of the things which made her reverence these 
people, her father was not noticing them, and her 
mother and Horace were seeing only what was gro- 
tesque. And there was plenty of that to see. Scat- 
tered through the rooms were people who could not 


60 


RACHEL STANWOOD. 


appear in any but a ridiculous light to a person like 
Mrs. Desborough; reformers, who had no talent or 
money to use in the adornments of dress, and yet 
who could not escape from a natural love of it. On 
some of the ladies there were odds and ends of finery, 
put together with conspicuous lack of taste ; and some 
of the gentlemen exhibited strange fancies in shirt- 
collars, cravats, waistcoats, and the cut of their gar- 
ments. With some the hair was a study, and there 
were a few who looked as if they had gotten into the 
wrong garments altogether. The confident belief 
that the result was satisfactory, or the very uncon- 
sciousness of any other than a pleasing one, added 
to the grotesque appearance of these people. So 
when William Hedges came upon Grace, in her 
corner, and began talking about the Moreland pic- 
tures, she was eager to seek out and dwell upon every- 
thing which was beautiful or admirable in the home 
of the friends for whom she was painfully solicitous. 

William Hedges had more penetration than she 
gave him credit for. He had seen her tears very 
unmistakably, and because it was his instinct to 
make everybody to whom he came near comfortable, 
he had shielded her from his own observation. 

“There are so many pretty things in this house, ” 
said Grace, presently, looking at the “Winter” pic- 
ture, but not thinking of it. “It seems as if the 
people” — 

“Seems?” asked Will, after waiting an instant. 
“I wish you would not stop there. You were going 
to say something good about the people and I want 
to hear it. Please go on, — I want the chance to 


FRIENDS AND FRIENDS. 61 

say, 4 Seems , madam? Nay, it is!' For I hioiv, 
you see.” 

She had stopped because her eyes wanted to fill 
again, and she was determined not to let them. He 
covered her emotion skillfully and kindly. “I was 
only going to say that the Stanwoods make the best 
out of everything. I think they ” — 

“Well? ” asked Will gently. “You need not be 
afraid to tell me what you think of them, Miss Des- 
borough ; I have known them all my life. Next to 
the Mortons, who are the only relatives I know any- 
thing about, the Stanwoods are the nearest friends 
I have. They have made me feel like doing my 
part in the world as well as” — he finished with a 
comical laugh, — “as nature will permit.” 

‘‘That is just what I mean,” exclaimed Grace, 
catching at his serious thought, “and if I had the 
chance to work with you all, I feel as if even the 
little / could do would help somebody.” 

Will’s face lighted up as he met her little burst 
of confidence. He longed to be honest and say 
something bold in his admiration of her. But he 
would not, for the world, have made her conscious. 
He asked what kind of work she would like to do, 
and she pointed to the slave-woman who was thread- 
ing her way through the room, collecting cups and 
saucers from the guests who had finished with them. 

“I would like to help those people,” she said. 
“If I could do ever and ever so little for them, it 
would make me glad. The little children even, in 
this house, helped one of them the other day. They 
do it from instinct.” 


G2 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


Two red spots burned on her cheeks and she 
looked at Will with deepened, earnest eyes, as if 
she craved some opportunity which was denied her. 

They rehearsed the story of Harriet’s escape, and 
Will told her more about the slaves. It was only 
accidental, he said, that the woman whom Grace had 
observed had not been in the house with her child 
at the time of the slaveholder’s search. “And 
in that case,” Will explained, “they could hardly 
have been saved, for it is difficult to conceal chil- 
dren. Suppose, for instance, that Havilah Moore 
and little Diana — those are their names — had 
been with Harriet, on the other side of that fence, 
when their master was talking to Betty and Dick. 
Diana would probably have made some sound, and 
the three would have been betrayed. Mr. Cumley 
could never have got so many away.” 

It was a pitiful story, from beginning to end, and 
it wrought upon Grace’s feelings as nothing had 
ever done before. 

“Havilah! Havilah Moore! ” she said. “It is a 
strange name, but I like it.” For a few moments 
they were silent. Grace gleaned back against the 
side of the window and looked out into the dark- 
ness. She seemed depressed, and Will regretted 
that he had told her anything about Havilah. He 
watched her a moment and then said gayly , “ But we 
are getting dreary ourselves. The slaves were not 
caught, and the anti -slavery society will probably get 
them off somehow.” 

Grace turned her face to him with an impulsive 
movement and exclaimed vehemently, “Oh, how I 


FRIENDS AND FRIENDS. 


63 


envy you! and Rachel Stan wood ! and Susy Morton, 
and everybody who has the chance to do real things ! 
You will do it; you will get the freedom of these 
people, and make their lives worth something. But 
I have n’t the power of the smallest child among you, 
and there is nothing I can do! ” 

“Oh yes, there is; yes, there is!” cried Will. 
“Your wish is too honest for you not to do some- 
thing. You underrate your power. It is — you 
do not know how great. An honest wish like that 
is power in itself; it is inspiration to others, and 
will make opportunity.” 

She was an inspiration to him now, but he would 
not, for the world, have let her know it. She 
looked at him as he straightened himself and set his 
lips. He was not handsome, but every line of his 
face revealed character. It was indicative of re- 
serve power to an extraordinary degree. Grace had 
been talking to him as if she had known him for 
years, as she had never talked before to anybody, 
and she was as unconscious as if he had a right 
to her confidence. There was something about him 
which called out the natural, fearless expression of 
thought; nobody could look at him and not trust 
him. His way of receiving Grace’s innocent little 
burst of confidence would make it impossible for her 
to regret having given it to him. She looked up at 
him with a glad little smile, and was beginning to 
ask him what kind of work there was for her to do, 
but the sound of her voice made them notice that 
the room was growing quiet. Rachel Stanwood had 
led the young Scotch girl to a place near them, and 


64 


-RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


she was standing there waiting to sing. She had a 
good figure, and was of medium height, with a mass 
of wavy, red-brown hair which grew low on her fore- 
head and was gathered into a knot at the back of 
her head. She had rather plain features, restless, 
nervous, light-gray eyes, and a mouth which looked 
scornful. The most noticeable thing about her was 
an appearance of isolation, even in the midst of the 
little crowd of people who had collected about her. 
She looked as if she had no place there, but was 
separated and apart from everybody. Rachel left 
her to go to the piano and strike a chord. The girl 
waited for her to return and then, clasping her 
hands together, she began to sing “The Last Rose 
of Summer.” With the first notes silence dropped 
like a spell upon the company. 

Pure and clear the girl’s voice rose, and besides 
its richness there was that in its quality which 
struck the heart of every listener. It was untaught ; 
it was easy for any one, with even a small amount of 
musical training, to perceive that the girl sang only 
as the birds do, without method or studied skill, but 
the people listened as if they were afraid to lose a 
breath. The girl stood, apparently unconscious of 
everybody, her head turned away from the general 
company. Her eyes, sharp and intense, looked 
strained, as if she were trying to see something at a 
distance. She sang without unclasping her hands ; 
those near her could see that she was excited, only 
by the trembling of the loose folds, and the shim- 
mering of her silk gown. The song ended in a mur- 
mur of applause which was too deeply felt to be 
loud. 


FRIENDS AND FRIENDS. 


65 


Rachel whispered to the girl, who, without chang- 
ing her position, sang, in the same key, “Annie 
Laurie,” and from that she went to “ Auld Robin 
Grey.” As she went on, the feeling and passion of 
her voice seemed to grow more intense, until, at the 
close of “Auld Robin Grey,” she passed to “Home, 
Sweet Home.” The song was heart-breaking in 
its pathos, like the song of an exile. From the 
first note it was desolate. 

The last note died and the girl dropped her head 
upon her breast. Rachel went to her and spoke her 
name softly, “Miss MacClare!” and held out her 
hand. The girl grasped Rachel’s hand in both of 
her own and held it. People began to press around 
her ; everybody wanted to get a sight of her. Ra- 
chel felt her trembling all over and thought she was 
frightened. 

“Look up, Miss MacClare,” she said kindly, try- 
ing to reassure her; “your singing was beautiful, 
and everybody wants to tell you so.” 

Miss MacClare lifted her head with a gesture that 
was almost defiant. Her eyes lighted upon Mrs. 
Riverston, whose face loomed up above the others 
around her. Miss MacClare flashed a quick, angry 
glance at it, then, throwing Rachel’s hand from her, 
she ran out of the door and away upstairs. 

While general attention was centred in a buzz of 
talk about the Scotch girl, her wonderful singing 
and strange disappearance, Mrs. Riverston seized 
the opportunity to draw Mrs. Stan wood to a seat 
upon a little sofa across a corner of the front room. 

“I shall be so glad to have your advice concern- 


66 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


ing my interesting young protegee, my dear Mrs. 
Stan wood,” she said, confidentially. “What can 
be done for her? Your daughter thought that her 
voice ought to be cultivated. There is no question 
that she is right about it, and I am sure everybody 
here, after hearing her sing, would agree with her. 
If you could only suggest something! I consider 
your advice more valuable than that of any other 
person, I assure you.” 

“About music?” asked Mrs. Stan wood dryly. 

“Oh no, of course, I did not mean as to her 
musical education,” said Mrs. Riverston, laughing 
behind her fan. “Your daughter has promised to 
consult some musician about that, and I have no 
doubt he will undertake to put it through. But I 
want your advice as to the — the disposal of Miss 
MacClare. I have really done all that I am able to 
in that direction, and must have her, in some way, 
taken off my hands. You see, it is quite impossible 
for me to keep her any longer, with my family and 
large number of servants. I want your advice as 
to where she should be sent. Would not some of 
these people who have just heard her, have some 
place to propose? That is why I urged you to allow 
her to sing this evening, — I was so sure they would 
be delighted, and I thought some of them would 
surely be interested in befriending her. You are 
so practical, my dear friend, that I know your ad- 
vice will be most valuable. Indeed, to obtain it 
was my principal object in coming this evening; for 
I must act upon it, I must, indeed. You see,” 
drawing nearer to Mrs. Stanwood, to be very confi- 


F1UENDS AND FBIENDS. 


GT 


clential, and touching that lady’s folded hands with 
the tip of her closed fan, “you see, my servants are • 
unwilling to wait upon her, — her meals, you know, 
have to be carried upstairs, as, of course, we cannot 
have her at our table, — they are unwilling to wait 
upon her, and I cannot ask them to do it. We are 
bound to protect those whom we employ from in- 
justice and imposition. I do not feel that I have 
a right to impose upon anybody under my roof, 
Mrs. Stanwood.” 

Mrs. Riverston’s talk came in like the tide, in low, 
gentle, incessant successions of waves. Once in a 
while, with the tenth wave perhaps, it worked up to 
a more excited pitch, and once in a good while, 
when a thought was exhausted, a wave broke over 
it and, receding, gave the listener a chance for re- 
sponse. It was necessary to be deft, to avail one’s 
self of the opportunity. 

Mrs. Riverston felt that she was on a high plane 
of thought just now, and one which Mrs. Stanwood 
would appreciate. She repeated it, “I never allow 
anybody, who is under my roof and my protection, 
to be imposed upon! ” 

A wave was receding and Mrs. Stanwood asked, 
“Then thee has not considered this girl as under thy 
protection ? Or is she the one who does the impos- 
ing?” 

“Yes, Mrs. Stanwood!” Mrs. Riverston ex- 
claimed, sending a tenth wave over the little lady. 
“You understand the situation perfectly, as I knew 
you would. I have been most frightfully imposed 
upon by her. I have given her two silk dresses, 


68 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


two bonnets, and several tilings which my daughter 
* had finished with, and I have had my own maid alter 
and fix them up, and do so much to them that she 
has given me notice that she will leave, when her 
month is up, if Miss MacClare remains. Why! 
you cannot possibly estimate what I have done for 
her. Think of the opportunity, Mrs. Stanwood! 
The opportunity afforded her by being under my 
roof (Mrs. Riverston thought a great deal of her 
roof), and of being allowed to make a genuine sensa- 
tion at the most costly entertainment which I have 
given in a year ! Of course, she did not mix with 
the company, as you wanted her to do this evening. 
It would not have done. That reception was on the 
occasion of my son’s coming of age, but this even- 
ing is somewhat — most charming ! most delightful ! 
but different, is it not, Mrs. Stanwood? ” 

There was a pause, but Mrs. Stanwood allowed 
the wave, this time, to break on the sandy shore of 
Mrs. Riverston ’s own mind. 

In a moment that lady went on, “And now I 
have given her this opportunity of singing in your 
parlor, and I feel as if, in justice to myself, it ought 
to end here. Do you not think so? And do you 
not think the girl’s own good, — I feel conscientious 
about that , — she must be thought of” — Mrs. 
Riverston did not observe Mrs. Stanwood ’s lifted 
eyebrows or hear her give a significant long sigh of 
which that quiet lady was herself unconscious. 

“Do you not think,” Mrs. Riverston continued, 
“it woidd be cruel to allow the girl to go on in this 
way ? ” 


FRIENDS AND FRIENDS. 


69 


Mrs. Stanwood took advantage of this receding 
wave and said boldly, u Yes, I do.” 

“Thank you so much!” Mrs. Riverston ex- 
claimed, rising to intimate that she considered the 
conversation at an end. “You are so kind! Then 
I shall dismiss the girl to-morrow, and send her to 
you for advice. It is time for us to go. I see my 
young people waiting for me. I wonder where Miss 
MacClare is! Will you be so very kind, Mrs. 
Stanwood, as to ask one of your servants to tell her 
to follow me to the dressing-room? Thank you! 
And your daughter, — will you say good-night to 
her for me? I am so very grateful to you, — I 
knew you would help me. Here is my husband to 
say good-night also. My dear ” — turning to a tall, 
jovial -looking gentleman with bushy gray English 
whiskers, who was laughing and showing superb 
teeth as he listened to something which Mr. Stan- 
wood was saying to him. He turned in answer to 
his wife, who went on vigorously, “My dear, Mrs. 
Stanwood has been advising me in regard to Miss 
MacClare. She thinks as I do, and I am to send 
the girl to her to - morrow. 6rOOC?-evening, Mr. 
Stanwood! You and your wife have given us a 
most delightful occasion!” And, with a rather 
peremptory “Come, Frederick!” aside to her hus- 
band, and a stately bend, adapted for society, to 
her host and hostess, Mrs. Riverston sailed out of 
the room. Mrs. Stanwood turned her face toward 
her husband, gave vent to a sort of blank sigh, and 
remarked, “What I meant was that her treatment 
of the girl was a piece of cruelty ! ” But there was 
no time for any more. 


70 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


The company was breaking up and the next half 
hour was devoted to saying good-bys, interspersed 
with snatches of conversations on the subject of the 
business which had been prominent in the early part 
of the evening. The last person to go was Mr. 
Garrison, for whose departure the children had been 
peeping over the banisters. They had gone to bed 
long ago, but had been kept awake by the unusual 
noise and excitement in the house. Now they came 
pattering downstairs, barefooted, and in their night- 
gowns, to kiss Mr. Garrison good-by. He was de- 
lighted, and after a very small frolic, he leaned 
over the banisters, put a hand upon each of their 
heads, and said, “Good, solid heads, with healthy 
brains inside ! Nobody knows, children, the think- 
ing stowed away in them, or how much they are 
destined to help the world.” 

Elizabeth and Richard ran upstairs laughing, but 
with no idea of what Mr. Garrison meant. They 
never suspected that their father had told him how 
they had kept guard, that morning in the garden, of 
the entrance to the underground railroad. 

The house was all quiet and Mr. Stan wood was 
beginning to put out the lights in the parlors, when 
Rachel appeared, saying in distress, — 

“ Do come to that Scotch girl, mother ! I found 
her in the attic, and she ’s in hysterics ! ” 


CHAPTER III. 


“HAWYET WILSON.” 

Havilah Moore, with her little girl Diana, and 
Harriet Wilson, had escaped together from the 
same master. They had passed for a lady traveling 
with her child and servant, Havilah and Diana be- 
ing almost white and Harriet very dark. Their 
escape had been bold and easy. They had been in 
New York about a fortnight at the time when their 
master had so nearly captured Harriet. Soon after 
that occurrence, it being ascertained that he had, 
temporarily at least, abandoned his search as fruit- 
less and returned to the South, Havilah and the 
child had been conveyed to Mr. Stanwood’s, to re- 
main there until a safer refuge could be found. 
Havilah was of a morose disposition, nervous and 
inclined to melancholy. Her experiences as a slave 
had made her bitter. By herself, she might either 
have settled into a condition of hopeless submission, 
or have put an end to her life; but she lived for 
Diana. The discovery that Diana was to be sold 
had inspired her with the determination to escape 
with her from slavery, and now she had but one 
hope, — to secure freedom for her child. Until 
that was accomplished and Diana free from the 
danger of being carried again into slavery, Havilah 


72 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


could not feel any sense of joy. There was no 
happiness for her in liberty which might end any 
day. Her master was a cruel one; and she was 
haunted by the fear of her child being doomed to 
suffer as she had suffered since his purchase of her. 
She still dreamed of the baying of hounds, and, 
what was worse to her, the voice of the overseer. 
Even in the Stan woods’ attic, her sleep was like 
that of a hunted deer. 

Just before daybreak, on the morning after the 
party, she awoke with a start, sprang to her feet, 
and stood trembling from head to foot in an agony 
of terror. A slight noise in the next room had been 
exaggerated in her dreams, and she thought Diana 
was in the arms of her master, being carried away. 
She felt in the dark and touched the child, who was 
sleeping soundly. 

“Fo’ de Lawd’s sake, w’at ’s de rnatteh, Hab- 
lah?” asked Harriet, who had been awakened. 
When Havilah explained, Harriet laughed outright, 
burying her face in the bedclothes to smother the 
sound. 

u Ef yo’ ain’t de bigges’ kin’ of a scah-crow in de 
hull Norf!” she whispered. “Lay down agin an’ 
take yo’ res’. I ’m gwine to git up an’ ’joy m’se’f, 
an’ ef Massa S’ dan sen’ anybody to ’quire fer yo’, 
I ’ll brung up der cyards. So yo’ an’ Di ken sleep 
wid yo’ min’s quiet.” 

Havilah lay down again beside the child. “I ’m 
right sorry I wakened yo’, Harriet,” she said. 

“Sh! Sh!” said Harriet, striking a light. 
“ Doan yo’ say ‘Hawyet’ no mo’; yo ’s got to lun 


“ HAWYET WILSON 


73 


to call me ‘Delphiny,’ — dat ’s my name now. Ef 
Massa S’dan sen’ fo’ me , I ain’t a-gwine to be yer! 
I ain’t no ‘Hawyet’ no mo’! I’m Delphiny K. 
Simpson ! ” 

“Delphina, then,” said Havilah. “What are yo’ 
getting up for ? ” 

“To ’joy m’se’f, — I done tol’ yo dat. Yo’ go 
sleep,” said the girl, busy dressing herself. In a 
few minutes she was on her way downstairs, tread- 
ing cautiously on the sides of the steps to keep them 
from creaking. 

Harriet was the reverse of Havilah in every re- 
spect. Her temperament was as cheerful as Havi- 
lah ’s was sombre. She had been cruelly treated, 
but her sufferings seemed to have left few traces. 
Perhaps it was because they had been principally 
physical and were easiest forgotten. She had no 
family that she was aware of, and it was from no 
dread of separation from any one dear to her that 
she had run away; she had longed for liberty for 
liberty’s sake, that was all. Her very method of 
obtaining it had been characteristic of her happy, 
careless disposition. She had boldly announced to 
her master that she intended to run away from him, 
advised him to watch her closely, if he wanted to 
keep her, and had followed him up so persistently 
with assertions that she was going to be free, and 
warnings of how to prevent her, that he ceased to 
listen to her and believed she was only jesting. 
When, therefore, Havilah suggested to her the plan 
she had contrived for their escape, the girl had so 
thrown her master off guard that their way was com- 


74 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


paratively easy. She now looked upon her free- 
dom as secure, and her joy in its possession was 
irrepressible. That it was precarious, nothing would 
convince her. Her recent peril, instead of alarming, 
reassured her. Her master had tried to catch her, 
and, within arm’s reach of her, had failed. That only 
proved his stupidity. He was not clever enough to 
catch her, and that was all there was about it. She 
was free and was going to stay free, and the joy of 
feeling her liberty was intoxicating. She was glad 
to be awakened just to be reminded of it. 

Reaching the basement, she set down her candle 
and shoes — she wore shoes and stockings only when 
obliged to, going barefoot whenever she was out of 
sight of Mrs. Stan wood and Rachel, — and proceeded 
to unfasten the door and windows which opened from 
the kitchen into the garden. The first sniff of morn- 
ing air seemed to act like wine upon her. She darted 
out to the grass plot and swung lightly, two or three 
times, around one of the clothes posts. She tried 
each of the other three in like manner and then 
stopped to take breath. The whistle of an engine 
rang out into the stillness, and an early train of cars 
rushed and hooted along Tenth Avenue. 

“Massy sakes, g’long! ” Harriet exclaimed, 
watching the white smoke roll against the darkness 
and disappear. “Yo ’ll wake de dead afo’ de day 
o’ Judgment!” She held on to the post while she 
stretched back to watch a second cloud of smoke 
from the retreating engine. “G’long fas’ ez light- 
nin’, ef yo’ wants to! ” she said, as another whistle 
sounded in the distance. “/ ain’t aboard, 2’ wine 

7 O 


“ HAW YET WILSON . 


75 


souf! /’sail right. It ’s him dat got on de wrong 
side ob de fence! An’ he might ’s well gib it up, 
coze he ain’t gwine to cotch me. I ’s clean gone , an’ 
he kin trabel, but he won’t fin’ Hawyet Wilson. I 
ain’t Hawyet Wilson no mo’, an’ he ain’t yeard ob 
Miss Delphiny K. Simpson nebber. Massa S’dan, 
Squah, ain’t smart ’nough to fin’ dat pusson. How 
ken he fin’ me when I ain’t m’se’f? I ’d like to 
know dat.” She went into the kitchen delighted at 
this idea. It amused her beyond everything, and 
she steadied herself by the table while she shook 
with noiseless laughter. “He kin come yer agin 
ef he likes,” she went on, talking to herself. “Oh 
ya-as! An’ he ’ll ast fo’ Hawyet Wilson an’ ebery- 
buddy ’ll tell him dey ain't no pusson ob dat name 
nowhah — an’ all de time dere ’ll be Delphiny K. 
Simpson down dah, on de right side ob de fence! ” 

She laughed until her fun was exhausted and then 
set herself to thinking of something to do. Her en- 
ergy kept pace with her happiness, and she was al- 
ways ready for action. “Now Delphiny, w’at she 
gwine to do? ” she asked. It did not take her half a 
minute to decide. “ I know ; de Gran’ P’rade ! Miss 
Stan’d she said it mu s’ git washed.” She went to 
work vigorously, turned the front of her skirt up and 
pinned it behind her, selected the best broom in the 
closet, laid it on the table, and, after unfastening 
the front basement door, filled two pails with water. 

She carried them, one balanced on her head, out 
to the sidewalk, set them down and stood for a few 
moments with her hands on her hips, taking a sur- 
vey of the street. She watched an early milk wagon 


76 


RACHEL STANWOOD. 


go by, and then looked up at the windows of the 
houses. There was a light in an upper window of 
one. “W’at yo’ doin’ up dis time o’ night?” she 
said, looking at it. “ Yo’ better go to bade agin, 
I don’ want nobody gittin’ up to spy roun’ an’ see 
me waskin’ de” — She suddenly doubled herself 
up and went off into a fit of suppressed laughter. 
“ Golly ! ” she said, in a minute, and laughed again 
immoderately. Something had suggested itself to 
her which pleased her mightily. Mrs. Stanwood 
had told her to wash the sidewalk before breakfast; 
while all the people were asleep in their houses she 
decided she would wash all six sidewalks ! It was 
such fun to be free! 

Delphina — as she is going to insist upon it, we 
will call her so hereafter — Delphina was delighted 
with her inspiration and set to work. She spent 
the next hour in sloshing, dousing, and sweeping, 
running back and forth with her pails and fresh 
supplies of water, getting wetter as she went along 
and enjoying herself as much as if it were all a 
frolic. It was too early for anybody to be about, 
and Delphina was in her glory, making the water 
fly, and gradually reducing the broom to a wreck. 

She washed all six sidewalks and it was five 
o’clock when her task was finished and she returned 
to the kitchen. 

“Who’s dah?”she said, stopping in the door- 
way, a little startled to see a strange figure standing 
by the window. 

“It ’s I, — Tibbie MacClare,” answered the girl, 
herself startled by the blackness and weird appear- 
ance of Delphina. 


HAW YET WILSON 


77 


“ Who ’s yo’ ? Whar yo’ come from ? W’at ’s 
yo’ arter, an’ whar yo’ gwine to? ” Delphina said to 
herself, while she put away the pails and broom, 
taking in, as she did so, the items of Miss Mac- 
Clare’s personal appearance. 

“ Hm ! Seen Miss Raychel in dat frock more ’n 
wunst! ” she thought. 

Miss MacClare moved toward the stove. There 
was something in her appearance which excited pity. 
“Is yo’ col’?” Delphina asked, and, without wait- 
ing for an answer, went on, “Yo’ looks col’, miss. 
Come sit yer,” drawing a chair to one corner of the 
hearth. “Sit yer, an’ I ’ll buil’ yo’ up a fah in no 
time. Aunt Peggy, she leabs it all ready to light, 
so yo’ won’ be col’ more ’n a minute.” Delphina 
lit the fire and knelt on the hearth, peering through 
the grating at the red sparks. 

“Thank you, I’m nae cold,” said Tibbie ab- 
sently, and indifferent to physical discomfort. She 
sat down on the chair Delphina had placed for her, 
and let her hands drop in her lap. 

“Hm! Yo’ looks beat out,” said Delphina. 

“I am !” exclaimed the girl, rubbing her hands 
nervously over each other. “I ’m beaten about by 
everybody, — I want to be left alone! ” She spoke 
in an angry tone and her face clouded into an al- 
most vindictive scowl. 

“Who’s been ’busin’ yo’ ? Whoebber dey is, 
yo’ ’s clar ob ’em yer. Did ’n’ know white folks 
was afeerd ob bein’ took. Yo’ ’s ez bad as Hab- 
lah ! Is yo’ afeerd o’ bein’ took by anybody?” 

“Indeed no !” exclaimed Tibbie. “I will never 


78 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


go near any of them any more, nor put a foot inside 
of one of their grand houses ! If they come for me, 
I ’ll open the door for them and point to it and bid 
them go / 99 

She made a gesture of command as she spoke. 
Delphina, still kneeling on the hearth, opened her 
big eyes at Tibbie and dropped her lower jaw. 

“Lawd o’ massy!” she exclaimed in consterna- 
tion. “Ef yo’ ken do dat , w’at mo’ yo’ want? 
Do yo’ want to know w’at I ’d liev to do, an’ Hab- 
lah, an’ Di, ef de pusson w’at ’s got de right come 
for us f Yo’ know Hablah? ” 

“No; who is she?” answered Tibbie, sulkily. 
“She’s a lady up stahs wid her lill gell Di. 
Ya-as she is,” Delphina insisted, as if Miss Mac- 
Clare disputed her statement. “Ya-as she is. 
She ’s a lady as much as you are, on’y handsomer, 
— heaps. Wa-all, ef dat man I tol’ yo’ ’bout come 
yer, dey would n’t be no’ p’ in tin’ at de do’ for 
Hablah an’ de chile an’ me ! He ’d be de one to 
p’int, an’ we ’d hev to go de way he p’inted. An’ 
do yo’ want to know whah he ’d p’int? ” 

“Where?” asked Tibbie, interested. 

Delphina rose on her knees and pointed, saying, 
“He’d p’int to de Souf! He’d p’int to a place 
whah he ’s got men to beat us mos’ to de’f, an’ 
dogs to tear us to pieces, and ” — 

“Oh, hush! What is it you’re telling me?” 
cried Tibbie, horrified. 

“Ya-as, he ’s got ’em all, an’ mo’, too! ” shouted 
Delphina, feeling entirely secure from the dreadful 
possibilities, but wishing to impress Tibbie. “Dey 


“ HAWYET WILSON . 


79 


ain’t nuffin w’at he can’t do, ef he takes de notion; 
but dose folks o’ yonrn can’t do nuffin ’t all. 
Dey ’s got to clar de tracks an’ git outen de road, 
when yo’ tells ’em to quit. Yo ’s got yo’self an’ 
yo’ ’s got de folks up stahs to keep, dat ’s what 
yo’ ’s got! We ’s got to leab ’em an’ go clean off 
to Canada, but yo’ ken stay yer ’mongst ’em, an’ 
ef yo’ loses ’em it ’ll be yo’ own fault, jes’ like yo’ 
frowed ’em out wid de rubbige! An’ ef yo’ ebber 
do dat ” — Delphina pointed her finger ominously 
at Tibbie, — “ef yo’ does dat , Ole Satan hisself ’ll 
stir de fah fo’ yo’ dat time, an’ he ’ll warm yo’ 
up!” 

“Hawyet, yo ’d better leave dat gen’leman to 
’tend to his furnace himself, an’ fin’ sump’m else 
to talk ’bout,” said a middle-aged colored woman 
coming in at the door. 

“An’ I wish you ’d frow sump’m ahead in yo’ 
pahf, so we ’d know yo’ was cornin’ ! ” said Harriet, 
who had sprung to her feet startled. “I was on’y 
jes’ tellin’ dis yer lady ” — 

“Well, now, now! ” said Aunt Peggy, coming to 
look into the tea-kettle. “Dis yer lady an’ me ’s 
’quainted. Ef you ’d ’a’ filled de kettle when you 
lit de fire, chile, ’stead o’ leabin’ its bones to rattle, 
you ’d ’a’ been smarter, an’ I ’d ’a’ been ready 
sooner to gib de comp’ny a cup o’ hot coffee. 
But no matter; you kin’led de fire, an’ dat ’s one 
t’ing. I reck’n by yo’ petticuts you ’s washed de 
sidewalk, too; take off dat outside skut an’ hang it 
in de yard to dry, an’ den sweep de dead leaves in 
de garden pahfs, dat ’s a good chile.” 


80 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


Aunt Peggy took tlie kitchen reins in her own 
hands now, and set about to prepare an early break- 
fast for Miss MacClare, whose acquaintance she had 
made in conjunction with her hysterics the night be- 
fore. 

Whatever Miss MacClare’ s wrongs might be, she 
was getting disciplined this morning. Aunt Peggy, 
finding that even the hot coffee and all the advice 
which she poured out upon the girl failed to affect 
the bitterness of her mood, finally went to a drawer 
in the dresser and took from it a Bible. “Dah! ” she 
said, handing it to Tibbie. “Tu’n to de twenty - 
eighth chapter ob Dutyrounme an’ read ebery wud, 
from de fust verse to de las’ one; den yo ill feel 
better! ” 


CHAPTER IV. 


MISS MAC CLARE BEGINS A NEW CAREER. 

A few hours later Mrs. Stanwood, in the little 
room next to the back parlor, was washing the 
breakfast things while Rachel wiped and put them 
away. 

“Not too fast, Rachel; thee will nick the cups. 
Take things quietly,” she said, as Rachel, making 
most progress in her part of the labor, washed some 
cups under the faucet at the sink. 

“Quietly!” said Rachel. “With to-day’s cam- 
paign before us! What are we to do with her, 
mother? If the Riverstons had only waited until 
we had settled some of the others ! There ’s a house- 
ful on our hands now, and I don’t see how we are 
going to dispose of them all.” 

“Oh, it won’t be so difficult,” said her mother. 
“ Take time to think and thee will accomplish more. 
We have no company to take care of, and can give 
all our attention to the unfortunates.” 

“Well, I hope there will be no more arrivals at 
present,” said Rachel, standing on tiptoe to put 
some things on a high shelf in the glass cupboard. 
“And I wish Miss Bremer had stayed here instead 
of going to the Mortons, for it will take genius to 
know what to do with Miss MacClare.” 


82 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


“Oh, no, child,” said her mother. “Thee is 
making: a mountain out of a mole-hill.” 

“A mountain! I call her a volcano! Thee 
wasn’t upstairs when she was stamping on her 
gown because it was made out of one of Miss River- 
ston’s! ” said Rachel. 

“Well, it can be pressed out,” said Mrs. Stan- 
wood. 

“ She ’ll never touch it again,” said Rachel. 
“What ’s she got on this morning?” 

“ Thy brown gingham ; she was delighted to make 
the exchange,” said Mrs. Stanwood. 

“Thee needn’t call it that, even in fun, mother! ” 
exclaimed Rachel impatiently. “Mrs. Riverston 
and her daughter would give me their old clothes, 
though, if they dared.” 

“Nonsense! Fiddlesticks!” said her mother 
laughing. “Thee ought to have been named ‘Mar- 
tha,’ thee takes so many cares.” 

“It’s the cares that take me, mother,” said Ra- 
chel. “There’s the doorbell, — I hope it isn’t a 
fresh avalanche! We’re having a perfect earth- 
quake of them just now! ” 

“It will soon quiet down, child, don’t worry. 
Thee will see Mr. Kreutsohn to-day, and arrange 
for him to hear Tibbie — that is her name — sing. 
He will set her to work at her music, and that will 
make a different creature of her. Here ! come 
back, Harriet!” intercepting the girl in the entry, 
who was hurrying to answer the doorbell. 

“ How often have I told thee, Harriet, never to go 
to either door?” she asked, with some annoyance. 


MISS MAC CLARE BEGINS A NEW CAREER . 83 

The girl sniggered, showing all her teeth, and 
said, “Yo’ ain’t nebber tol’ dat to Delphiny K. 
Simpson , missus ! ” 

Mrs. Stan wood tried to look serious, and made 
a failure of it. She repeated the order, using the 
girl’s new name, and sent her downstairs again. 

“She’ll walk into her master’s clutches, yet!” 
she remarked, returning to the china closet. The 
door between the closet and the entry slid open and 
Susy Morton’s fresh face appeared. 

“Good-morning, Aunt Debby!”she said, kissing 
her cheek. Susy and Rachel exchanged smiles. 

“I ’ll take thy place, Aunt Debby. I know thee 
has something else to do,” said Susy, taking off her 
gloves. She was evidently familiar with the house 
and its ways, for she helped herself to a clean apron 
from one of the drawers, tied it around her, and 
with another kiss on Mrs. Stanwood’s cheek, gently 
ousted her from her position. “Let me,” she said. 
“I do love to wash dishes in this house; you always 
have such boiling hot water and so many spandy 
clean towels.” 

“Very well, then I will have a little talk with 
Tibbie, and write to Mrs. Riverston,” said Mrs. 
Stan wood. “When you are through here, Rachel, 
thee get the children ready to carry my note.” 

Susy was full of interest in the appearance of the 
Desborough and Riverston families at the party on 
the previous evening. After a few comments on 
the success of the occasion, Susy said, “From what 
Will said, I should think that Grace really waked 
up. She is so quiet that it is hard to imagine it, 


84 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


but Will can wake up anybody. He says she is, if 
not an out-and-out abolitionist, next door to one. 
He thinks she does not seem very happy, and that 
she has the look of a person who is pining for some- 
thing. Does thee think so, Kay?” 

“Poor Grace! ” said Rachel. “It ’s easy enough 
to see that she hasn’t something she wants. I wish 
they’d let her go into the fair business with us! 
It would do her lots of good just to work and get 
tired out with all the rest of us. I think she ’s 
suffering for a will of her own. She never does 
anything except what her mother plans to have her, 
and, if she could have a few good times of the kind 
she wants, I believe she ’d wake up and stay so.” 

“Why won’t they let her come into the fair 
work with us?” asked Susy. 

“Oh, law! Thee wouldn’t ask if thee had seen 
as much of the mother as I have, or talked to the 
brother as long as I did last night,” said Rachel. 
“There!” putting away the last cups, “now the 
salts, and that will be all.” She emptied the salt- 
cellars and they went at the pretty work of wash- 
ing, refilling, and stamping them with the star on 
the bottom of a wine glass. 

“He ’s a high and mighty one, is my Lord 
Duke!” Susy remarked. “Mattie and I decided 
that he wasn’t getting what he wanted while thee 
had him. Mother says he ’s chairman of the deco- 
ration committee; think he ’ll be here on Third-day 
evening?” 

“I don’t know and don’t care,” answered Rachel. 
“First I thought he was a hopeless case, and then, 


MISS MAC CLARE BEGINS A NEW CAREER. 85 

for a minute, that he ’d been ‘born again,’ but I 
think, by to-day, he must be in sackcloth and ashes 
because he came here at all.” 

“Don’t know about that, Ray,” said Susy, puck- 
ering her mouth and shaking her head. “ Sackcloth 
scratches; the duke would never put it on, whatever 
the occasion. How did his mother get on? She 
looked like a fish out of water.” 

Rachel smiled and answered, — 

“She wouldn’t like to own it, but she had a 
beautiful time. She ’s in sackcloth to-day, though, 
I am positive. Come upstairs now and help me get 
the children dressed, will thee?” She closed the 
glass door leading on to the piazza, and drew down 
the shade. 

When they reached Rachel’s room, Susy returned 
to the discussion of Mrs. Desborough. “I thought 
she looked worried. Why does thee think she en- 
joyed herself, and why the sackcloth? She isn’t 
in any danger of being dragged into the fair.” 

“She was worried just because she was having 
such a good time,” said Rachel. “She was never 
half, or quarter, so much interested before, and it 
was n’t proper for her to be entertained by such a 
queer set as she thinks we all are. I haven’t been 
scrutinized by her and the Riverstons, without learn- 
ing to know it when I ’m disapproved of. But she 
did find the people she talked with interesting, and 
thee noticed her between times, when she. was on pins 
and needles for fear their being here was going to 
make them too intimate with us. We are not the 
correct thing at all, Sue, dear, and thee needn’t be 


86 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


so daft as to expeet to meet Mr. Horace Desborough 
here on Third-day evening. He ’ll write me a beau- 
tiful little note before then, expressing his ‘regret 
that business engagements interfere ; ’ see if he 
doesn’t.” 

“Young Mr. Riverston would come in a minute, 
Ra$ if thee ’d invite him. We do need a few gen- 
tlemen awfully, and we might use him for” — 

“For what? ” asked Rachel, getting a dress of her 
little sister’s from a closet. 

“Decoration, of course; wliat’s our committee 
for?” said Susy, laughing. “He wears such pretty 
gloves and brings thee such lovely flowers. He ’d 
look sweet behind our table.” 

“Poor fellow! I think thee ’s hard on him,” said 
Rachel, brushing Betty’s bonnet at the window. 

“ Thee was hard on him last night, Ray Stan- 
wood,” said Susy. “Thee might have worn some 
of his flowers, instead of carrying Grace’s all the 
evening. Leaving them all by their lone selves, off 
in the back parlor! Meg Norris and Mattie and I 
came near dividing them among us.” 

“Why didn’t you? I wish you had,” said Ra- 
chel. 

Susy laughed again. “I call that cruel,” she 
said. “And there he was, poor boy, buzzing 
around, trying to get within hailing distance of 
thee, taking up with us because he couldn’t do any 
better, and answering us in dreams, with his eyes — 
Ahem! I ’d like just to know how it feels to have 
a pair of eyes after you like that ! ” 

“Do stop thy nonsense, Sue Morton, and rip this 


MISS MAC CLARE BEGINS A NEW CAREER. 87 

ruffle off Betty’s dress. She and Dick have got to 
take a note to Mrs. Riverston.” 

u She didn’t have a very good time, did she?” 
said Susy, snipping the bastings. 

“Yes; she’s an awfully wet blanket and extin- 
guishes everybody, but she got what she came for, 
and went home happy. And oh, Sue, didn’t Re- 
becca enjoy those Scotch songs? Didn’t she think 
Miss MacClare’s voice wonderful?” 

“Beck was in the clouds and has been misty ever 
since,” said Susy. 

The girls passed into recalling and summing up 
the evening’s pleasures and successes. Rachel sup- 
pressed the recollection of the Scotch girl’s subse- 
quent behavior, and dwelt upon the beauty of her 
voice and the project concerning its cultivation. 

Elizabeth and Richard appeared, to be made ready 
to carry the note. 

The Riverstons lived in a corner house in the 
neighborhood of Washington Parade Ground. 
There was an imposing entrance for the family and 
friends upon one side of it, and one around the 
corner for servants and tradespeople. At the base 
of the house, interrupted only by the two entrances, 
was a broad mound covered with well-kept lawn 
grass and finished on its outer edge by a stone wall 
two feet high. 

Elizabeth and Richard did not know at first to 
which door they had better go. The main entrance 
looked formidable, and they went around the corner 
to take a survey of the one there. The mound 
rounded, with its wall, on either side of the ser- 


88 


BACHEL STAN WOOD. 


vants’ door, which was of heavy ash protected by a 
gate of iron filigree. There was the same filigree 
at all the lower windows. The servants’ entrance 
side did not look promising and the children re- 
turned to the great front door. Richard walked 
around to it on top of the little stone wall; Eliza- 
beth wanted to, but she had on her best clothes, 
and was on her dignity. At the top of the high 
doorsteps were two crouching lions carved in stone. 

“Heigho!” said Richard, getting astride of one. 
“Don’t ring yet, Betty! Wait till I try the other 
feller; ain’t they jolly ? ” 

“Oh, Dick!” said Betty, with affected tolerance, 
and a secret longing to sit on a lion too. “Some- 
body may see thee, and thee ’d be awfully ashamed. 
Thee ’d better get off. I ’m going to ring. Mother 
said we mustn’t poke.” 

She pulled the brass knob, and then was sorry be- 
cause she perceived fearful signs of the lion’s dust 
upon Dick. 

“Oh, Dick, look at thy jacket behind! ” she cried. 

“It ’s on my knees, too, and my gloves! ” he said 
ruefully, holding his hands out. “ What shall I do, 
Betty? Shall I run before they open the door? ” 
It was a brilliant thought, and he ’d have gone if 
Betty, seized with horror at the thought of being 
deserted, had not promptly and vigorously laid 
hands upon him. 

“No, thee shan’t go a step! ” she exclaimed, hold- 
ing on with difficulty and trying to slap the dust off 
his back. “Mother sent thee on the errand just as 
much as me, and I won’t go in alone. Hold still! ” 


MISS MAC CLARE BEGINS A NEW CAREER. 89 

“She didn’t; thee ’s got the letter, and I ’m only 
for company.” 

“She did! ” said Betty. 

“Didn’t!” said Dick, but he wriggled out of 
her grasp too late. The door opened, and a pompous 
butler was holding it in a way which seemed to in- 
dicate that they could enter the house over his dead 
body, only. 

“What d’ ye want?” he asked, looking down at 
them as if they had come to steal. 

“We — we brought a letter,” said Betty, holding 
it up, “and we ’re to wait for an answer.” 

Both children looked up at the cross butler as if 
he had authority to arrest them immediately. 

He admitted them and said, “Ye can wait here.” 
He put the note upon a silver tray, which he took 
from a table, and walked upstairs leisurely. 

The children were left standing in a large, square 
hall. Opposite the front door there was an open 
fireplace with brass furnishings, a large landscape 
painting over it, and on either side heavy chairs 
of carved oak. There were a good many doors in 
every direction, excepting on the left of the fire- 
place, where was a grand staircase with carved bal- 
ustrades, at the foot of which, on pedestals, were two 
statues, one of young Bacchus with a load of fruits, 
and the other of Hebe pouring nectar. By the front 
door where the children were standing was an enor- 
mous mirror, and opposite it was a stiff oak bench, 
with carved back and arms, like a very limited and 
uncomfortable church pew. 

The butler came downstairs as he had gone up, 


90 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


leisurely. He did not look at the children, but, on 
his way to a room back of the fireplace, croaked, 
“Ye ’ll have an answer when it ’s ready,” and pass- 
ing through one of the doors, closed it behind him. 

“I didn’t move, Betty,” whispered Dick. 
“Does thee think he saw the dirt on my back?” 

“No,” whispered Betty, turning to look; then 
adding hastily, “Yes, he could see in the looking- 
glass. But,” as Dick twisted to see himself behind, 
“may be he didn’t look.” 

“If he sees it, he ’ll know I ’ve been on a lion,” 
said Dick, a little anxious. 

“Come sit here and he can’t,” said Betty, taking 
a seat on the pew bench. It was so high that even 
Betty’s feet could not touch the floor unless she sat 
forward. 

“I ’d brush it off, if it wouldn’t make a noise,” 
she said. “Sh! what’s that?” A door opened 
somewhere and closed again. It was very still. A 
tall clock in the corner by them ticked with solemn 
dignity. The children, silent for a while, took a 
survey of everything. The light was dull, finding 
its way through the windows over the top and down 
the sides of the front door. More found its way 
from a window half way up the staircase. Presently 
Dick began to be restless. “I wish I had run 
away! Mother didn’t say it, neither.” 

“Sh! she did! Thee might have got lost,” said 
Betty. 

“Did n’t, did n’t, did n’t, — whatever thee says, 
I say it twice as many times; and I wouldn’t get 
lost,” said Dick. 


MISS MAC CL ABE BEGINS A NEW CAREER. 91 

“Well, thee can’t get away now, anyhow,” said 
Betty, outdone in the argument. “And thee ’d 
better not whisper so loud, or that man ’ll come 
along. He ’s worse than Mr. Cumley.” 

“George and Louis Norris call Mr. Cumley 
‘Hairern Scarem,’ but I like ‘Bobtight’ better,” 
said Dick. 

“Hush! ” said Betty, laughing softly. 

There was another minute or two of silence and 
then Betty said, “Let ’s play something.” 

“Play what?” asked Dick, standing up to hitch 
his trousers. The clock by him buzzed suddenly 
and began to strike. Dick’s “oh!” was a squeak, 
and set both children to laughing. They tried their 
best to smother the sounds, wriggled, hitched, and 
finally got down on their knees to hide their faces 
in the seat of the bench, but every other instant 
there would escape a wheeze or a sputter from one 
of them, and that would set them off anew. It was 
entertaining, though, trying not to laugh aloud, and 
disposed of at least ten minutes. By that time 
their laugh was exhausted, and would not be coaxed 
back. They made soft, intentional little squeals, 
but it was of no use ; the laugh was over and time 
again hung heavily. The grim old clock ticked as 
if there was so much time on hand that it could 
never be parcelled off where it belonged. It seemed 
to tick nothing but, “Plen-ty of -Time! Plen-ty 
of-Time!” The children kept time with their 
hands and then with their feet. Then they slid 
down from the bench and stepped on tiptoe across 
the black and white chequered marble floor to the 


92 


RACHEL STANWOOD. 


table in the middle of the hall. For a while they 
played that they would be poisoned if they trod 
upon any but the white squares of marble. Once 
in a while a little sound in the house sent them 
hustling back to the pew-bench. Twice the door- 
bell rang and gave them hope of deliverance. But 
the butler answered it both times, once telling some- 
body that the ladies were out, and the other time 
receiving a parcel with which he disappeared by one 
of the doors. He took no notice of the children 
either time. Once there was a rustle on the stairs, 
and Miss Riverston came down in fine array, to go 
out. The children sat up, very straight and smiling, 
certain this time that she must be bringing the an- 
swer to their mother’s note. But she only pulled a 
rope by the mirror, which made a bell tinkle in the 
distance, and summoned the butler, who opened the 
door for her. She swept out without a word, and 
when she had gone, two rueful little faces looked at 
each other. Dick pointed to the door behind which 
the butler had disappeared, and said in an indignant 
whisper, u He tells lies! He said they ’d gone out 
and she had n’t at all ! ” 

“So he did,” said Betty, “may be he thought she 
was out.” 

“Won’t she be mad, though, if she finds it out! ” 
Dick said, and for two minutes they speculated on 
what might be the results of such a discovery. She 
looked cross, but it did not seem to them that any- 
body could be bold enough to find fault with the 
butler. They had lost their respect for him, be- 
cause of that lie, but their dread of him had not 
diminished. 


MISS MAC CLARE BEGINS A NEW CAREER. 93 

“What shall we play now? I’m tired of 
‘poison,’ ” Dick complained. 

“Play these are a prince and princess, bringing 
us presents,” said Elizabeth, surveying the statues. 

Dick looked from one to the other several times 
in disgust. Then he said, “If he ’s a prince, he ’s 
a mean, stingy old thing! And so he is, if he ’s anyr 
body at all! ” 

“Why, Dick! ” exclaimed Elizabeth, scandalized, 
“he’s lovely! I don’t see why he’s stingy, when 
he ’s bringing us such a lot of nice grapes.” 

“Well, he is,” said Richard, stolidly. “If lie’s 
a prince, he ought to buy his sister some clo’es to 
wear; an’ some for himself, too, — clo’es what ’d 
stay on. And he ’s a pig! ” 

“Why?” asked Betty. “Suppose he isn’t a 
prince, but only a poor boy starting off to seek his 
fortune? ” 

“Well, he’s a pig just the same,” said Dick. 
“For, if he can get a beautiful, big basket of grapes, 
he can sell ’em an’ buy clo’es with the money. And 
’she ’s a ninny! She ’s holding on to that queer 
pitcher just as if it was so full that she was afraid 
she ’d spill the stuff in it, and it ’s got such a little 
neck that it could n't spill. Why, she could take it, 
like this, and sling it round and round, this way! ” 
Dick slung his arm round furiously several times. 

“Sh-sh-sh! ” said Betty, looking up the stairs and 
all about, to see if anybody was coming to inquire 
what they were making such a noise about. They 
were not in the least noisy, but the house was so still 
that Dick’s whispers sounded very loud. Reassured 


94 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


by the quiet, Betty said, in defense of the statues, 
“Thee don’t understand, Dick; they are not real 
people, — they are out of poetry.” 

“They aren’t out of my kind of poetry,” he said, 
with no opinion at all of either Hebe or Bacchus. 
“Their kind isn’t half or quarter so nice as father’s 
about King Hortius and Lake Religious! ” 

“Oh, Dick! It’s ‘King Horatius,’ and I forget 
what the lake is, but I know it isn’t Religious,” 
said Betty, secure that her knowledge went further 
than his. 

“Well, what ’s the difference?” asked Dick. 
“An’ I say ’t is, ’t is ” — 

“And 1 say whatever thee says twice as many 
times, — so there, I got it in first this time! ” said 
Betty, as fast as her tongue could rattle. They were 
quite good-natured in most of these disputes, their 
disagreements being on the surface and ending with 
simply a tilt, to see which could first close the argu- 
ment with their set form, “whatever thee says, I say 
it twice as many times.” 

“Anyway,” said Dick, heaving a big sigh, “I like 
‘Hortius ’ the best.” His weariness seemed to reach 
a climax, and he exclaimed, “/ say! This is a 
grea ’ deal worse than meeting! Don’t thee think 
we could go, Betty?” 

“No,” said Betty, “ mother wants an answer to 
the letter. Hush, now, and be ready, for the clock ’s 
going off again; it ’s two minutes of twelve.” 

“ I don’t care if it busts ! ” said Dick, getting cross. 
“It can’t make me laugh any more, an’ I ’m aiofid 
thirsty, an’ just as hot as thunder! ” 


MISS MAC CL A HE BEGINS A NEW CAREER. 95 

“So am I,” said Betty, dolefully. But the house 
was as silent as a tomb, and there seemed no pros- 
pect of release for the little captives. 

The butler delivered Mrs. Stanwood’s note to 
Mrs. Riverston upstairs in her “morning-room,” a 
name which she thought more elegant than the old- 
fashioned one of “sitting-room.” It was on the 
front corner of the second floor, with a deep bay- 
window upon one side, and, on another, two smaller 
windows, with an open fireplace between them. The 
furnishings of the room were luxurious. Curtains 
of silk and lace, stuffed chairs, lounges and soft 
cushions all betokened the importance of physical 
comfort to their owners. There seemed to be very 
little in the room which suggested anything else. 
The young lady in the oil painting over the mantel- 
piece, represented as waving an adieu to her lover 
from a balcony, looked, in her waxen beauty, as if 
she had never experienced a sensation of pain, and 
as if, should her lover meet with the worst of fates, 
she would receive news'of the calamity with becom- 
ing grace which would neither disturb her repose nor 
distort her features. The family portraits of two 
Riverston ancestors looked as if they had lived well 
and never lost an hour of sleep, and Mrs. Riverston, 
sitting in an easy chair reading Mrs. Stanwood’s 
note, looked as if the person who interfered with her 
comfort would have a hard time of it. The only 
discomfort in the room seemed embodied in the per- 
son of Miss Clementina Riverston, and she was going- 
out. She had her bonnet on and was sitting in the 


96 


BA CHEL S TAN WOOD. 


bay-window, putting on a pair of new kid gloves 
which were too small. The gloves were trying, but 
they were not enough to account for the sour expres- 
sion of Miss Riverston ’s face. 

“Well!” said Mrs. Riverston, reaching Mrs. 
Stan wood’s note to her daughter, who crossed the 
space between them to receive it. “There’s Miss 
MacClare disposed of! We accomplished that, at 
any rate, by going last evening.” 

“If that is all we accomplished, it is worth the 
sacrifice,” said Clementina, laying the note on her 
mother’s table. “But my opinion is that we went a 
good distance toward accomplishing something else, 
in comparison with which Miss MacClare weighs as 
nothing in the balance.” 

“What do you mean, Clementina? Are you 
thinking of Burton ?” asked her mother, looking a 
little anxious. 

“Yes, I am,” said Clementina, working again at 
her glove. “That girl is clever enough to know on 
which side her bread is buttered. Burton ’s a fool! 
He is going to let her rope* him in just as she has 
roped in Horace Desborough.” 

“You don’t say so !” exclaimed Mrs. Riverston. 
“ What a pity ! That will be pretty hard for the 
Desboroughs ! I wish I had known it last evening, 
and I wouldn’t have been so worried about poor 
Burton. If there ’s a chance of her capturing 
Horace Desborough, why ” — 

“ Good gracious, mother ! If you go on in that 
way, in another minute you ’ll have them married ! 
I did n’t say anything about her capturing him or 


MISS MAC CLARE BEGINS A NEW CAREER. 97 

anybody. It is n’t her way to try that sort of thing. 
Nor is it necessary. The men are fools about her, 
just as Burton is. She goes about like an empress 
among them, and it looks to me as if she was just 
holding off until they were all wild about her, and 
then, when she is ready, all she will have to do 
will be to point her imperial finger to one of them 
and say, 4 1 ’ll take you, sir! ’ There ’s the danger, 
mother, for when she does that, the man will go, 
whoever he is, and if she chooses to select Burton, 
there he is, all ready and waiting.” 

“Good heavens, explain yourself, Clementina!” 
cried Mrs. Riverston, impatiently. “You just inti- 
mated that she had selected young Desborough, and 
now you are alarmed for Burton. And I say that 
I ’m sorry for the Desboroughs if she succeeds. If 
she succeeds, understand. For it does not seem 
probable that such a match as that can be brought 
about, even with the power you ascribe to her. The 
Desboroughs will resist it and overcome it. They 
are not fools. But, even from your own standpoint, 
I don’t see your argument, for Miss Stan wood’s 
very preference for young Desborough will certainly 
be a protection to Burton. I don't think she seems 
like the kind of girl to want two strings to her bow. 
And she seems modest, in the main. She is strong- 
willed ; I could see that when she was talking to me 
about Miss MacClare. Her mother was far more 
amiable and reasonable about that. It was the 
daughter who made all those suggestions about our 
doing any more for the girl. She seemed to take it 
for granted that we would be willing to contribute 


98 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


toward her support and musical education. That 
was pretty cool and rather selfish, considering all that 
we have done, hut she ’s young and inexperienced, 
and she has never had any money herself, poor thing, 
or she would not have made such a proposition. 
Then, of course, it was not the thing at all for her 
to be making any suggestions to a person so much 
older than herself as I am, and one of dignity and 
position. Her mother is, in every way, her supe- 
rior. She agreed with me in every particular as to 
Miss MacClare, and I am really indebted to her 
for ” — 

“ W ell, you had better wait and pay her off when 
the debt has accumulated to the full amount, 
mother,” said Clementina, who did not always wait 
for her mother to finish before striking in. 

Clementina had a vocal pedal of her own, which 
she put down when it was necessary for her to in- 
sert remarks between the waves of her mother’s 
talk. She put it down now, and her mother sub- 
sided while her shriller voice made itself dominant. 
Going on with the simile of their indebtedness to 
Mrs. Stanwood, Miss Riverston said, “You need 
not worry lest she won’t hand in her bill, mother, 
and if it ’s not for Burton, you may thank fortune, 
but not Mrs. or Miss Stanwood. Your mind was 
taken up last night with getting rid of Miss Mac- 
Clare, and you did not see what I did. Miss Stan- 
wood did not make her selection as to a lover last 
evening; she is not nearly ready to do that.” 

“Then what” — began Mrs. Riverston, but 
Clementina’s pedal was down, and she continued, 


MISS MAC CLARE BEGINS A NEW CAREER. 99 

“You’ll understand, if you’ll wait, mother, and 
as I am going out, you had better allow me to fin- 
ish, for the carriage will be here in a few minutes. 
I say that I do not think Miss Stanwood cares to 
select a husband as yet; she was only selecting a 
corps of workers for the anti -slavery fair, and she 
roped in Horace Desborough as one. The very 
name 4 anti-slavery ’ is enough for you and me, and 
we must keep Burton out of it, if we can. I pre- 
vented him from having one conversation with Miss 
Stanwood by sending him off to get me a glass of 
water, and I ’d have done it a second time, if a lady 
with short hair and a baby’s cap on had not intro- 
duced herself and cornered me. Such a lot of queer 
people I never found myself among before ! Some 
of them looked as if they were dressed for charades. 
It would have been amusing but for the danger of 
compromising one’s self. Father is n’t in the least 
sympathy with anti-slavery sentiments; why need 
we have anything whatever to do with people who 
ride the hobby of abolitionism? ” 

44 Yes, I would prefer taking a bold stand in the 
matter,” said Mrs. Biverston. 44 But your father 
says we cannot afford to repudiate those principles 
altogether. There are the Jays and Sturgises and 
Schuylers, and a good many of our wealthy people, 
supporting the anti-slavery party now, and some of 
the cream of Boston society belongs to it. So we 
have to accommodate ourselves to both sides, Clem- 
entina, and be careful. It is always safe to be that. 
And, after all, what would we do without such peo- 
ple as the Stan woods? Who else would take our 


100 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


Miss MacClares off our hands? Don’t forget that 
we owe them something for that.” 

“Yes,” said Clementina, grudgingly. “But we 
paid off a good part of the debt by going to their 
house last evening. It is no slight favor to them 
to have a few handsomely dressed, dignified people 
of position to give tone to such a company as last 
night’s. I am sure the Stan woods were glad enough 
to have us and the Desborouglis, and will boast of 
it, too.” 

“Oh, of course they will,” said Mrs. Biverston. 
“But that won’t do us much harm. We shall not 
necessarily invite them here, and ” — 

“I should hope not!” Miss Biverston exclaimed 
impatiently, as she perceived the carriage, from the 
window, and started to go to it. “I should hope 
not, if only for Burton’s sake! ” 

Miss Biverston ’s disposition was sharpened by 
various causes. She was something of an invalid, 
being a sufferer from dyspepsia ; she had had a scant 
number of admirers and would have liked more, 
and she was twenty-nine and did not want to be 
thirty. There were a good many years between her 
and young Burton, he being only twenty-one, and 
she had elected herself his keeper and guardian. 
After she had gone, Mrs. Biverston picked up a 
showy piece of worsted work and busied herself with 
it while her mind rambled on about the Stanwoods. 

Yes, she thought, it was well to be careful. 
They, the Biverstons, had a position to be main- 
tained, and it must not be compromised in any way. 
Clementina’s talk had enlightened her on many 


MISS MAC CLARE BEGINS A NEW CAREER. 101 

points. They had done enough for the Stanwoods 
by going to their party ; now they could hold aloof. 
The Stanwoods had no position in society; they 
claimed none, and it was better simply to leave 
them where they were satisfied to be. The only 
aspect of the situation which was serious was, pos- 
sibly, from Burton’s point of view. If he should 
be led into mixing up with the anti - slavery fair 
business, and be dazzled by that girl’s beauty, it 
would be dreadful! She must have a serious talk 
with Burton. Yet she was clever enough to know 
that talking would not influence Burton, if his head 
was turned. Why could it not have been turned in 
another direction? If he had only taken a fancy 
to Miss Graythorn, or young Desborough’s sister! 
She wondered whether she and Clementina had not 
been remiss in their attentions to the Graythorns 
and Desboroughs. Perhaps Mrs. Desborough did 
not know that her son had been “roped in,” as 
Clementina called it, to this fair business. She 
would take an occasion and acquaint her with the 
fact. Suppose she invited the Desboroughs and 
Graythorns to dinner some night! By doing that 
several birds might be killed at once. Horace 
Desborough might be reclaimed and Burton might 
have his admiration turned into a new channel by 
either Miss Graythorn or Miss Desborough. Mrs. 
Riverston thought it all over and decided to write 
her invitations as soon as she could consult with 
Clementina. 

So, her thoughts had a great deal to do in one 
short morning, and she was quite surprised when 


102 


RACHEL STANWOOD. 


the stopping of a carriage and a ring at the bell an- 
nounced the return of Clementina and the butler 
appeared to say that luncheon was served. 

Mrs. River ston laid aside her work promptly and 
went down-stairs. 

“Luncheon is ready,” she said, meeting Clem- 
entina in the hall. “Don’t go upstairs first. Come 
into the breakfast-room, I have something to pro- 
pose to you.” 

“ Look there ! ” said Clementina, pointing into the 
corner behind the front door. 

Squeezed into one end of the pew -bench, in the 
most uncomfortable position, her head resting on 
her arm, over the side, was Elizabeth, with her lit- 
tle brother’s head in her lap, his small body filling 
up the rest of the seat. Both children were fast 
asleep. 

“It was heartless and inexcusable! Poor little 
things ! ” Rachel commented, after the children had 
had their dinner, answered the questions put to 
them, and were having a refreshing play in the 
garden. 

“Don’t judge harshly; they meant no unkindness 
to the children, and only forgot them, that is all,” 
said Mrs. Stan wood. “The important point is 
their position toward this poor, friendless girl, 
Tibbie. Mrs. River ston writes that they ‘refrain 
from any interference with our most judicious 
plans,’” — Mrs. Stanwood was reading from the 
note which Mrs. Riverston had sent by the children, 
— “and so on. She writes, ‘It would be wrong 


MISS MAC CLARE BEGINS A NEW CAREER. 103 

to mislead the girl by allowing her to expect a con- 
tinuance of that interest and protection which she 
has had under my roof, and therefore, my dear Mrs. 
Stanwood, we cheerfully defer to your better judg- 
ment and withdraw from any further responsibility 
as regards Miss MacClare.’ 

“It isn’t worth while to read the rest,” Mrs. 
Stanwood said, putting the note aside, under a paper 
weight, with a decided little gesture as if she put 
the writer, also, aside. “She calls it ‘conforming 
to our decision,’ but the plain English of it is that 
they don’t want to have anything more to do with 
the girl. And it is very desirable, for her sake, 
that they should not. Now help her, Rachel, to dis- 
miss them from her mind. We will give her the 
chance to begin a new life here. See that she 
keeps her appointments with Mr. Kreutsohn, and 
so gets all the benefit possible from the arrangement 
made this morning.” 


CHAPTER V. 


GETTING READY. 

Early on a raw, cloudy afternoon in the middle 
of December, a little group of ladies, old and 
young, met in Nelson Hall to make their first prep- 
arations for the annual anti-slavery fair. 

The hall was a hare, cheerless one, in a building 
in the neighborhood of Astor Place. It was full of 
draughts and dust, the globes of the gas-fixtures 
were smoky and the windows dingy. The ladies 
were gathered around Mrs. Stanwood, consulting 
about some difficulties which appeared serious. The 
fair was to open on Monday, and, as a great con- 
cession, the ladies were allowed to begin the opera- 
tion of cleaning the hall on this afternoon. They 
were discussing the conditions upon which the priv- 
ilege had been granted. 

“We are to vacate the premises by six o’clock, 
and leave nothing behind us,” said a tall, grim-look- 
ing lady in a Quaker “coal-scuttle ” bonnet and long 
cloak. 

“If we could only leave those things,” said Mrs. 
Morton, pointing to a pile of boards and a heap of 
roughly made trestles in the lobby, “we could get 
along very well. William Hedges ordered them 
to be sent on Second-day, but there was a misun- 
derstanding, and here they are.” 


GETTING READY. 105 

“They can be left in the anteroom,” said Mrs. 
Stan wood. 

“Oh, no, they can’t, Deborah,” said the tall lady 
who had first spoken, and whose name was Tabitha 
Snow. “The janitor has been asked and has re- 
fused positively. He is no friend to our cause, and 
is going to do all he can to annoy us.” 

“It is pretty early to come to that decision,” said 
Mrs. Stanwood. “I ’ll see him.” 

“Wait, Debby, wait !” exclaimed Mrs. Morton, 
intercepting her as she was starting off. “Thee 
hasn’t heard half, — thee has only just come, and 
we have been here some minutes. If we want to 
use pails or brooms, or anything else, we have got 
to bring our own. The janitor ” — 

“Leave him to me and possess your souls with 
patience,” said Mrs. Stanwood, walking briskly out 
of the room. 

The other ladies hugged their elbows and stood 
about, irresolute and uncomfortable in the chilliness. 

“I don’t see what’s to be done,” said Miss 
Snow, or Friend Snow, as she was called. “There 
isn’t any use in staying here to catch cold. Deb- 
orah can’t do anything with that man. You ought 
to have gentlemen on your committee ; who is chair- 
man, and why isn’t he here? Rachel Stanwood, I 
thought thee was to get members for this committee ; 
why didn’t thee put some gentlemen on it? Who 
is the chairman, and where is he? ” 

“I can’t tell where he is,” Rachel said, and left 
Mrs. Morton to answer the rest of Friend Snow’s 
questions. 


106 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


“It will be a real help,” whispered Susy Morton 
to her sister Eebecca, “to have Tabitha Snow 
round to remind us of our shortcomings.” 

“What is she here for, anyway? She isn’t on 
the committee,” said Rebecca. 

“That ’s why,” said Susy, her gray eyes snapping. 
“She hasn’t any responsibility and can interfere 
comfortably. Ray Stanwood, what is thee going to 
do?” 

Rachel had taken off her bonnet and mantle and 
was tying on a white apron. 

“The fair is advertised to open on Second-day 
afternoon, and something has got to be done,” she 
said, pinning a handkerchief, in a three-cornered 
fold, over her hair. “Suppose we clean all the 
globes we can reach.” In less than two minutes, 
with aprons and handkerchief -caps, the girls were 
ready to follow her lead. 

They had come armed with dusting-cloths, and 
when Mrs. Stanwood returned, were all busy, pre- 
senting a brisk and most attractive appearance. If 
the Quaker girls dressed in sombre colors and wore 
no ornaments, they knew, as well as the world’s 
people, what was becoming, and those handker- 
chiefs, with the exception, perhaps, of Susy Mor- 
ton’s, were pinned with wonderful skill. Susy had 
no decorative genius whatever; her cap looked like 
a Shaker’s. 

Mrs. Stanwood had induced the crusty janitor 
to lend brooms, pails, and a step-ladder, and, in 
the course of a few minutes, everybody was active, 
finding possible such an amount of cleaning and 
polishing as only women could discover. 


GETTING READY. 


107 


It might be supposed that the janitor would wel- 
come such assistance in the performance of his duty, 
but the object for which the fair was to be held 
created in him a spirit of opposition, and he was 
anxious to produce as many difficulties as possible. 
The people busy at the work which should have 
been done for them made no complaint. They 
were accustomed to having their way made rough. 
If the fair were for a popular cause, it would be 
smooth enough, but for anti-slavery purposes it was 
difficult even to hire suitable places, and the pro- 
prietors of such were apt to shirk all other responsi- 
bility than that of receiving prompt and liberal pay- 
ment. Whichever way they turned, the people who 
engaged in getting up an anti-slavery fair met with 
obstacles. They fought their way and worked their 
passage to success. The money which they obtained 
came from a few, and was spent with the utmost 
economy. Men worked harder, in order to give 
more ; women pinched and saved, to make one dollar 
count for two. 

The girls worked like beavers this afternoon. 
Bachel Stanwood, particularly, showed skill in tak- 
ing upon herself the part which was heaviest and 
least agreeable. But she was closely followed up by 
Susy Morton, whose trim little feet were agile in 
mounting and jumping off the ladder and benches. 

“There! Good!” she exclaimed, as the janitor 
began lighting the gas. “Now for the next thing, 
Bay! What shall it be? ” 

The other girls were busy, dusting and polishing 
about the windows, or pasting autumn leaves on the 


108 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


panes, giving them the effect of stained glass. Ra- 
chel and Susy had just finished cleaning a very dingy 
chandelier, and had gone out in the lobby to see if 
they could do anything with the pile of boards and 
trestles which were to make the tables. 

Susy, with her dress pinned up like a washerwo- 
man’s, sleeves rolled up, tumbled hair, and hand- 
kerchief-cap very much askew, looked tireless and 
blooming. She was leaning with both hands on one 
of the trestles, looking up at Rachel. She had a 
pair of dancing gray eyes, a nose which turned up 
slightly, and a chin with a dimple in it. She had 
no idea that her hair was tumbled or her cap 
crooked, or that her arms and hands were pretty 
and rather grimy. Susy could not help getting 
tousled and spotty. 

Rachel, as spotless as when she had first donned 
cap and apron, pointed to a pile of laths and long, 
smooth sticks. “If Will Hedges would come,” she 
said, “we could start the framework for the tables. 
He would make the janitor let us leave it here.” 

“I know it,” said Susy. “But he was afraid he 
could not get away from his office. I wish Mr. 
Desborough would have an attack of conscience and 
put in an appearance ! He did go to the committee 
meetings, Ray; may be he ’s better than we think.” 

“Don’t calculate on the chance, Sue,” said Ra- 
chel. “He did very well, as chairman, to preside 
at a meeting where we were only parcelled off into 
committees and discussed general plans. But he ’d 
be awfully in the way here. He hasn’t even an 
inkling of the real work we have to do. Those 


GETTING READY. 


109 


meetings didn’t amount to a row of pins, so far as 
he was concerned. I tell thee, our own hands are 
the only ones we are sure of; let ’s begin the frames 
ourselves, Sue, — we can rig up something .” 

She lifted the end of a board to try its weight. 
“Could we carry this stuff into the room, think? 
If we got it over near the anteroom, the janitor 
would be more likely to let us leave it there. Too 
heavy for thee?” as Susy lifted the other end of the 
board she still held. 

“Not a bit! Come, it ’s as dark as a pocket out 
here,” Susy said, leading the way. 

One by one they carried all the boards and trestles 
to the desired place. 

“Now! ” said Rachel, with a sigh of relief, as they 
laid down the last. one. “Can thee help me saw off 
some pieces to stiffen the joints of the trestles 
with ? ” 

“I can’t saw, but I can hold the board still while 
thee does it,” said Susy. The difficulty was greater 
than they had supposed, and Susy called her sister 
Rebecca to their assistance. Their awkwardness 
set them to laughing immoderately. One after an- 
other of them tried to saw, but they bungled fear- 
fully. 

“I could do it beautifully, if the saw would only 
behave itself; what does make it hitch so?” said 
Rachel, when, with great labor, she had succeeded 
in sawing off a few pieces. She straightened her- 
self up and wiped the perspiration from her face. 

“Oh, there’s a man!” exclaimed Rebecca, as if 
he were an apparition. 


110 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


“Is it Will? ” asked Rachel, her face lighting up. 
But she gave vent to an “Oh! ” of disappointment, 
as she recognized Horace Desborough, who was 
speaking to her mother. 

“It’s me Lord Juke!” said Susy. Rebecca 
clapped the dust from her hands as she said, “He 
is too high and mighty to join this crowd, — he ’ll 
go away faster than he came, when he sees what we 
are at.” Then, as Rachel and Susy were preparing 
to go to work again, she exclaimed in a low, startled 
tone, “Look at Aunt Debby! She is sending him 
over here, as sure as you live! Susanna Morton, 
pull down thy sleeves and unpin thy skirt! Ray 
Stanwood, drop that saw!” She reached and 
snatched the cap from her sister’s head. Rebecca 
was a pink of propriety. “Drop it! ” she whispered 
again, but Rachel held on to the saw, even while 
they exchanged greetings with Mr. Desborough. 

Rebecca made pantomimic signs to Susy to cover 
her arms, but Susy’s tucked -up sleeves meant busi- 
ness, and she deserted the field, running off in 
search of hammer and nails, without waiting for 
recognition from the new-comer. 

Horace was stiff and embarrassed. He was sur- 
prised to find the girls occupied as they were. He 
had expected to find Rachel directing others, with 
that queenly dignity of hers, and he had come to 
act as her assistant. But to discover the girls act- 
ually grubbing — he had seen the saw in opera- 
tion, Hetty Bixby was sweeping, and he mistook 
Susy at first for a servant — was disappointing. 
He wondered if he could make a courteous excuse 


GETTING READY. 


Ill 


for inability to perform the duties expected of him. 
He began: “Miss Stanwood, I am sorry,” when his 
eyes met that honest, straightforward look in hers 
and he perceived, at the same time, that she was 
very tired. 

“I did not expect you, Mr. Desborough,” she 
said. “You know I warned you to repent in 
season.” Her manner was not welcoming. She 
was wondering how the work would get on if he 
were going to stay. She thought he would disdain 
labor of this kind, even on his own part, and would 
think it unwomanly for her and the others. 

“But you see I did not repent; I came,” he said, 
and thought how pretty she looked with that odd 
little cap on. He went on: “You said long ago 
that it was hard to get gentlemen to help you, and 
you promised to give me my instructions, — now 
what have you for me to do? ” 

“I am afraid I misled you,” said Rachel. “You 
will be scandalized at what we have to do, and ” — 

Susy, on her knees, with a trestle tilted up before 
her, began hammering with such a noise that it 
was impossible to go on. Rachel finished in panto- 
mime, holding up the saw and pointing to Rebecca 
and Susy, herself and the boards. Susy’s hammer 
stopped. The three girls all laughed at Horace’s 
next questions. 

“Where are your workmen? Can I summon 
anybody? ” 

Rachel threw away her desire to conceal the sit- 
uation from him, and decided to submit to the tor- 
ture hardest to bear, ridicule. 


112 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


“There is nobody to summon, Mr. Desborough, ” 
she said, making a little too much of their helpless- 
ness. “We are our own workmen; Susy Morton 
and I carried all this lumber from the outer hall 
here, and I have just succeeded in sawing off those 
bits. There is nobody else to do our work well, so 
we are not open to criticism for doing it badly. 
Come, Becky!” She reached out to grasp the 
board again, but a firm hand stopped her. Wil- 
liam Hedges, who had approached unobserved, 
quietly motioned her aside, and in his hand the 
saw cut through the line ruled upon the board with 
such crisp quickness that Susy’s little ringing laugh 
was barely ended as the bit dropped on the floor. 

There was a flutter among the girls. “It ’s 
Will!” went, like a password, from end to end of 
the room, and his presence was felt as a refreshing 
breeze is on a sultry day. 

In a moment the work, which had begun to flag, 
received new impetus, a gay snatch of song started 
somewhere, a new atmosphere pervaded the room. 

To Horace Desborough, Rachel’s little cry, when 
Will took the saw from her, sounded like a rescue. 
He wished that he had been quicker and had caused 
it himself. He felt chagrined without knowing 
why. Just before Will Hedges appeared, he had 
wished for deliverance, but it was not agreeable, 
somehow, to have it come. He decided now that 
his offer to help should not be set aside. He ap- 
proached Rachel and said, taking off his gloves, “I 
am waiting for orders, Miss Stanwood.” 

“That’s it! That’s the idea !” exclaimed Will 


GETTING READY. 


113 


Hedges, placing a chair for Rachel. “Thee sit 
here, Rachel, and tell us what to do. That will be 
thy whole responsibility. Mr. Desborough’s idea 
is capital. Here, Becky, catch! ” throwing his hat 
to her. “Thee take care of that, but don’t go 
away. If I ’ve got to saw, I can’t keep a straight 
line unless thee looks at me. Now let us have a fair 
understanding what is expected of Mr. Desborough 
and me. But first we must see if everybody is at 
her post.” He took a quick survey of the room. 
“Mattie,” to a girl a-tiptoe on the step-ladder, 
trying to make some leaves stick on a high window 
pane, “if thee doesn’t put those leaves on properly, 
thee will spoil my e} r e for color. Annie, give those 
globes an extra polish ; thee ’ll be responsible for 
everybody’s complexion, when the gas is lighted. 
Friend Snow, keep thy eye on all the girls and 
superintend generally, until I get round.” And so 
on, he threw little sentences here and there until 
every one, old and young, felt the touch of his gay 
spirit. “Where is Miss Desborough?” he asked 
Horace, suddenly noticing her absence. Horace 
answered stiffly that she was at home. 

“That is too bad,” said Will, upon whom the 
stiffness was thrown away. “She ought to be here. 
You must tell her she has lost an opportunity not to 
be recovered. Make her feel so sorry that nothing 
will prevent her from coming on Monday morning. 
Don’t let her lose that chance too, — we depend 
upon you, you know.” 

But his last sentence was lost in the noise made 
by Susy Morton’s hammer. He looked to see what 
she was doing. 


114 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


“Stop thy racket a minute, Sue,” he said comi- 
cally, “ and tell a fellow what that trestle is kicking 
up its legs at thee for. It ’ll damage thee in a min- 
ute.” 

Susy was too intent to know that he was laughing 
at her. 

“They’re awfully shaky, Will,” she said seri- 
ously, “and I” — striking sideways at a nail which 
was going in crooked. “There! Wait till I just 
hammer in this one, and then I ’ll stop.” 

With a face red from exertion, her mouth screwed 
up, and her eyes snapping in time with the hammer, 
she jerked out between the blows: “I ’m — tighten- 
ing — up — their j oints — Oh ! ’ ’ 

She had brought the hammer down upon her 
thumb. 

“There! I said so! Is it much? ” Will asked 
with concern. 

“No!” said Susy scornfully, alternately shaking 
and putting her thumb in her mouth. 

“Permit me,” said Horace, possessing himself of 
her hammer. 

“I can do it — in a minute,” said Susy, embar- 
rassed and getting up, with some difficulty, from her 
cramped position. 

“I have no doubt of it,” said Horace smiling, 
“but perhaps you can show me how, unless Miss 
Stanwood has other orders for me.” 

“If you will make the trestles strong enough to 
support these boards, it will help more than any- 
thing, Mr. Desborough,” said Rachel, pleased at 
seeing that he had determined to make himself use- 
ful. 


GETTING READY. 


115 


He would rather have changed places with Will 
Hedges, but he set to work. His task would have 
been more agreeable if he had noticed Susy’s quick- 
ness to see what he wanted and her brisk way of 
supplying him with it, now hauling a piece of board 
within his reach, now catching at a rearing trestle 
to hold it steady, now giving him^the saw, or hold- 
ing out her pudgy little hand full of nails. 

But Horace was altogether unconscious of the 
original and charming little personality of Susy 
Morton. He was listening to Rachel while she ex- 
plained to Will the contrivances she wanted made 
for the tables. They were to serve both decorative 
and useful purposes. Rachel was delighted with 
some ingenious suggestions of Will’s. 

“That will be just the thing; make it that way, 
Will,” Horace heard her say. 

Will pretended to grumble. “That’s the way 
with all of you girls, when / come along,” he said; 
“if I suggest a thing, you all say, ‘Do it! ’ You 
exact ten times as much of a fellow as he ’s good 
for. But no matter! Of course you have got to 
have what you want. Stand up a minute. There 
— so high? ” He held a strip of wood upright and 
measured how far above her head the thing he was 
going to make should reach. It was pretty work. 
Horace would have liked a part in it. It grated 
upon him to see Rachel’s pleasure in whatever her 
companion did. Horace thought he was himself 
entitled to a share of her attention. What kind of 
man was this Mr. Hedges, who had only to show 
himself to have everybody his subject, as if he were 


116 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


a sovereign? He had not been in the room ten 
minutes before all the girls were buzzing and flutter- 
ing about him, coming and going with questions and 
consultations, and seeming to catch inspiration from 
his lightest word. And they all called him “Will,” 
as if he belonged to them. That was a part of the 
fun of being a Quaker, Horace thought. He won- 
dered why the girls never forgot to give him his 
title. He had been giving his assistance here and 
there among them, after propping up the trestles, 
and it was odd to notice that they invariably called 
him “Mr. Desborough.” Some of them said “thee” 
to him, but Rachel remembered always to say 
“you.” He did not care to have it otherwise, but 
he wondered why they did not forget. 

Presently he had what he wanted. Will was 
called upon to settle a dispute with the janitor, who 
was getting noisy in his objections to something, 
and Horace went to join Rachel. 

“What can I do for you, Miss Stanwood?” he 
asked, laying his hand upon a fanciful rack which 
Will had been making. She did not seem to hear; 
she was watching Will. 

“I am afraid you will find me a poor substitute 
for your friend, Mr. Hedges, but I will do my 
best,” he said, his tone betraying a shadow of an- 
noyance. 

Rachel was looking toward the disturbance at the 
far end of the room and her eyes deepened with 
some anxiety. 

“Can I be of service there? Would you like me 
to join Mr. Hedges? ” Horace asked. 


GETTING BEADY. 


117 


“Oh, no — not for anything !” Rachel answered 
quickly, frowning at the suggestion. In a moment 
her brow cleared and she turned to him saying, “It 
will be all right now. Hetty and Martha wanted 
to clear that corner out because they are to have 
their table in it, and the janitor frightened them by 
interfering and scolding at them, that was all.” 

“The impudent rascal! ” exclaimed Horace indig- 
nantly. “What does he mean ? ” 

“He wants to annoy us all he can, I suppose,” 
said Rachel. “He is holding on, like grim death, 
to his poor little point of not allowing us to leave 
anything here until Monday, and Will has gone to 
deal with him.” 

“He ought to be dismissed! I ’d like to go over 
there and help, myself, to put him out,” said 
Horace. 

“Oh, then stay here, — do!” exclaimed Rachel 
laughing. “Your method would not work at all.” 

“Why not? ” asked Horace. “I ’d have the fel- 
low out of the way and request the proprietors of the 
place to send you somebody who would obey orders, 
not give them. As chairman of this committee I 
might act with some authority, you know. I have 
not been of much use in any other direction, why 
can’t you let me do you this service?” 

“Because the service would amount to more than 
you would bargain for,” said Rachel, smiling with 
superior wisdom. “Come!” she said, taking hold 
of Will’s rack, “I shall have to give you something 
to do, to keep you out of mischief. If you will 
smooth off these rough edges with your penknife, ” 


118 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


showing him jagged places Will had left, “you will 
do us a far better kind of service than you would 
accomplish by going over there.” 

Horace opened his knife and began cutting while 
he said, bantering, — 

“ I obey orders, of course, but you seem to have 
very little faith in me, Miss Stanwood. I should 
like to know what you think I would accomplish 
over there.” 

“Well, in the first place,” said Rachel, gayly 
reckoning on her fingers, “ you could n’t dismiss 
the man any farther than the cellar. He would 
go there as fast as his feet could carry him and 
turn off the gas, as he threatened to do a while ago. 
Next, he would stick to his point of not letting us 
leave any traps here; next, his employers would 
probably like him all the better for knowing how to 
treat us abolitionists. They would take his part, 
decide that they ought not to have rented us the 
hall (they did not want to do it, you know), and 
decline to let us have it for our next convention, as 
we hope to do. That is, — yes, it is all I think of 
that you could do for us. Sue, can thee think of 
anything else?” 

“No,” said Susy, “not in so short a time; but if 
Mr. Desborough comes next week ” — 

She stopped and looked so comically scared that 
Horace and Rachel laughed outright. 

“ Then,” said Horace, “there is no knowing what 
I might accomplish ! I ’ll stay away, Miss Mor- 
ton.” 

“Oh, how splendid!” Susy cried out suddenly 


GETTING BEADY. 


119 


and sprang away, leaving them to break out again 
with redoubled mirth at her surprising maladroit- 
ness. She had not heard Mr. Desborough’s remark, 
but had caught sight of something which showed 
that the dispute at the further end of the room was 
settled favorably. 

“There! ” said Rachel in a moment, grave again, 
pointing to the janitor, who was lifting a heavy 
settee upon his shoulder. “That ’s what we accom- 
plish by Will’s method. He is going to have every- 
thing just as he wants it, and the janitor is going 
to help, instead of fighting him.” 

“He seems to have his way about everything,” 
said Horace. “I wish you would tell me the secret 
of his power.” 

“Nobody can do that,” said Rachel, following 
Will with admiring eyes. “Will could not tell you 
himself. It is his way, that is all. Everybody 
wants to do what he asks them to. It is always so. 
I think,” she knitted her brows and seemed to for- 
get to whom she was talking, as she went to analyz- 
ing Will’s power. “I think it is because he meets 
everybody, rich and poor, good and bad, on equal 
terms. He holds his own with the best, and he 
treats the worst as if, with their disadvantages, he 
might be like them. He talked quietly with that 
man for a while, and then I saw him lift one end 
of a heavy bench. The man did not move for a 
minute, and neither did Will. I could not hear a 
word, of course, and it is too dark to see their faces, 
but I know, as well as if I had been on the spot to 
see and hear, that if there is one single atom of the 


120 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


gentleman in that janitor, William Hedges brought 
it out. The man is doing the lion’s share of the 
work now.” 

Horace was not looking at either Will or the 
janitor; he was watching Rachel while she talked. 

“Is she growing eloquent?” he thought. He did 
not care for her summary of Will’s character. He 
wanted a little of her attention for himself. Why 
was it that he could never occupy her thoughts ? So 
far in their acquaintance, he had never caught more 
than flashes of interest from her. And he wanted 
more. She was different from any girl whom he 
had ever known; he had never felt a girl’s character 
as he felt hers. It was more worth while to try to 
win her good opinion, and he could scarcely get her 
attention for a minute. Whenever he did so, she 
seemed to think and talk about somebody else. He 
had certainly tried to please her; that was all he 
was there for. A pain took possession somewhere 
in his heart, and he was surprised and angry at 
himself for feeling it. He watched Rachel silently 
for a few minutes. She was sitting listlessly now, 
looking fagged, but content. Her eyes were 
dreamily following Will, upon whom she seemed to 
have laid all her burdens. She seemed unconscious 
of Horace, or perhaps indifferent. Horace tried 
not to care which. He set to remembering his cau- 
tions to Grace about cultivating an intimacy with 
these people. They were, what his mother called 
them, “a queer set,” with their “thees” and 
“thys,” their “Susys” and “Beckys” and “Het- 
ty s,” and apparently useless surnames. He was a 


GETTING READY. 


121 


fool to have come and was thankful he had kept 
Grace away. Imagine her on her knees, hammer- 
ing at trestles, or allowing that “Hannah” woman 
to set her to sweeping up chips in a cloud of dust, 
as she was making Hetty Somebody do now! Yes, 
Horace was glad that Grace was safe at home this 
afternoon, and he would do all he could to keep 
her away from these girls ; she should let them and 
their fair alone, if he could manage it. He tried 
to include Rachel in his contempt, but it was impos- 
sible. 

“Hurrah! ” cried Susy Morton, as she came run- 
ning, with Annie and Martha Quimby, toward Ra- 
chel. “It is all settled, and we are to leave every- 
thing we choose to carry there, in the anteroom! 
Take hold, somebody! It’s six o’clock and we’ve 
got to hurry.” She caught up one end of a board, 
Annie Quimby took the other, and they were tramp- 
ing off with it before Horace coidd interfere. 

“Don’t worry! There are plenty for all of us, 
and you can join the procession with another, if you 
like,” Rachel called back to him gayly, as she and 
Martha followed the other girls with a second plank. 
There was nothing for Horace to do but pick up a 
third one and carry it by himself. A bevy of young 
people came to help get all the lumber and fixings 
stowed away. 

Half the gas suddenly extinguished, warned 
them that it was time to vacate the premises, and 
for a few minutes there was running and hurrying, 
bustling and laughing while the procession of 
planks disappeared into the anteroom, interfered 


122 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


with by Delphina, who careered and bumped into 
everybody with trestles. The elder ladies went 
about collecting things in handbags, and returning 
what they had borrowed to the mollified but impa- 
tient janitor. 


CHAPTER VI. 


GRACE DESBOROUGH. 

W hen Horace reached home, his sister Grace met 
him in the hall. Springing out of the parlor, in 
her soft, pale blue gown, and her daintiness, she 
was an amazing contrast to the girls whom Horace 
had seen in Nelson Hall. Horace wanted her to be 
as different as possible and answered her greeting 
with unusual warmth. 

“Oh, how late you are!” she said, reaching her 
face up to him, under the gaslight. 

“Not too late for your welcome, little sister,” he 
said, kissing her. “Take care, dear, I ’m afraid 
my coat is dusty. I thought you would be at din- 
ner.” 

“Dinner is to be half an hour late, and I am 
glad,” she said, insisting upon helping him off with 
his coat. “I don’t mind the dust, I’m too impa- 
tient to hear all about it. You did go, or you ’d 
have been at home long ago. Was it fun? Did 
you help ever so much?” 

“I contrived to do a little,” said her brother, 
taking off his gloves. “Not much, though, com- 
pared with the rest of the crowd.” 

“Did you ever see people work so fast, Horace? 
I feel like a pigmy beside them,” she said. 


124 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


“Where have you ever seen them work?” asked 
Horace in surprise. 

“I went to the fair sewing-circle twice when it 
met #t the Stan woods’, don’t you remember? I 
think you were away, though, one of the times, at 
least,” said Grace. “I wanted to go awfully this 
afternoon, hut mamma thought I ought not. She 
declared I ’d he out of my element, but I know 
I would not. I could have helped, couldn’t I? 
Weren’t there plenty of things I might have 
done? ” 

“Oh yes, plenty,” said her brother with irony. 
“You could have made any selection you liked from 
the whole range of occupations suitable for a char- 
woman.” 

“I ’d have liked that,” said Grace laughing. 
“What were they doing? ” 

“Yes,” said her brother, “you might have grubbed 
in any direction you liked, or have gone farther 
and practiced carpentry with that dumpy, round- 
faced Susy Something-or-other, — I forget her 
name, — who tried to hammer her fingers off and 
whose hands looked like — like mine ! ” He held 
out his work-stained hands for her to look at. 

“What fun!” said Grace, steadying herself by 
the banisters and tilting lightly, first on one foot 
and then on the other. 

“Or you might have reveled in clouds of dust, 
with a broom, under the direction of ‘Hannah,’ — 
I don’t know her name either, but I know she is 
responsible for getting me into all this. What is 
her name, Grace? All the old women looked alike 


GRACE DESBOROUGH. 125 

in their uniforms, but I ought to remember Han- 
nah.” 

“Oh, Horace! ” exclaimed Grace, laughing again, 
and obtusely slow to perceive the tinge of contempt 
in his remarks. “The girls all call her ‘Aunt Han- 
nah, ’ and she is perfectly lovely. Rachel is so fond 
of her. They call Mrs. Stan wood ‘Aunt Debby;’ 
isn’t that a quaint, pretty name?” 

“I don’t like it so well as ‘Tabitha, ’” Horace 
said dryly. “There was an old lady named that, 
who stalked around like a grenadier, — I preferred 
her to any of them, excepting Hannah! Hannah ’s 
the one who has charge of me, and I ’m going to be 
loyal to Hannah ! You have n’t told me who she is.” 

“Why, she’s Rachel Stanwood’s aunt,” Grace 
said, enjoying his affected enthusiasm. “She is as 
lovely as she can be, too. She says ‘dear,’ and 
‘my child,’ so sweetly to me that I was just de- 
lighted once when she asked me to call her ‘Aunt 
Hannah,’ like the others.” 

“Well, I hope you had the dignity to refrain 
from such familiarity, however much you might en- 
joy it! ” said Horace. “You, at least, can afford to 
call her by her title, if she has one ; or are you go- 
ing to turn Quaker, with your unaccountable furor 
for that Miss Stanwood?” 

Grace burst into a merry laugh as she caught his 
arm, laid her cheek against it, and stroked him as 
if he were a dog. “Poor fellow! Poor fellow!” 
she said. “He had a hard time, didn’t he? Were 
you afraid, dear, that ‘Aunt Hannah ’ would begin 
to call you ‘Horace ’ ? ” 


126 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


“It would not surprise me at all if she did,” he 
said, “but I shall make an effort to preserve a little 
of my family identity, if I see much of those people. 
Grace, has that woman a surname, or don’t you 
wish me to know it? ” 

“Her name is Morton, and she is your ‘round- 
faced ’ Susy’s mother, Horace; don’t you like her 
better for knowing that? ” said his sister. 

“I don’t claim any proprietorship in the daughter, 
and my chief interest in the mother is in getting out 
of her clutches. I shall withdraw from the position 
in which she has placed me as soon as possible,” 
said Horace severely. 

“Well!” sighed Grace. “I wish I had been in 
your place.” Then she asked, a little anxiously, 
hoping that he would recall something agreeable, 
“Wasn’t Rachel beautiful, and didn’t she work 
harder than anybody?” 

“Yes, — like a day -laborer, with all the rest of 
her tribe,” Horace said. “I never saw such grub- 
bing and drudging, sawing and wood - chopping 
among girls who call themselves ladies, in all my 
life, and I hope I shan’t see any more of it! ” 

He was trying to feel all that his words said, but 
he could not. 

Grace resented his last speech. “Now I know 
that you are bantering, Horace,” she exclaimed. 
“You don’t mean one word of that — you know you 
don’t. What time are you going on Monday? ” 

“I don’t think I shall go at all on Monday,” he 
said, starting upstairs. 

Her countenance fell. She backed up against the 


GRACE DESBOROUGH. 


127 


door-moulding, with her hands behind her, and asked 
anxiously : “Won’t you go with me? I ’m going to 
help dress the tables.” 

“Indeed, I hope you ’ll do no such thing, Grace,” 
he said, stopping and frowning down at her. “An 
anti-slavery fair is no place for you at all. Wait 
and talk it over with me by and by ! I must get 
ready now for dinner.” He went upstairs with his 
mind in perplexity, the real picture in it at variance 
with the one he had presented to his sister. He 
wanted to wipe out the impressions of this afternoon 
and get back to his original attitude toward the 
Stan woods. He wanted to feel as he had felt before 
he went to that evening company at their house. 
W as that only a month ago ? It did not seem pos- 
sible; that evening was an era in his life. He 
could, at any time, see, in his mind, Rachel Stan- 
wood, just as she stood before him when Grace in- 
troduced them. And then, as she turned her face 
to him with that sudden, glad expression, when she 
was told that he was chairman of her committee! 
At those little committee meetings too, how earnest 
she had been, how ready with suggestions ! What 
fun it had been to watch her when knotty points 
were discussed, and then see her face clear again as 
they were settled ! And how she had spoken up with 
her ready, “I will see to that,” when it was asked 
how this, that, and the other thing was to be accom- 
plished. George! he had never supposed she was 
going to put her own hands to the labor, though ! 
How she had tugged at that sawing business ! Awk- 
wardly enough, but doing what had to be done. 


128 


RACHEL STANWOOD. 


Yes, she had given him a piece of her character when 
she would not have any allowance made for her had 
work. There was ‘no one to do it well, so she was 
doing it badly ’ — that girl could do anything , 
and there was no possibility of her doing it badly. 
What a power she was! And here he was trying 
to feel as he had done before he had looked into her 
face and learned all this! And he had been only 
just now saying all kinds of disagreeable things 
which gave a wrong impression of his feeling. He 
was grateful to his sister for not taking him up on 
those phrases when he alluded to her “ furor for those 
people,” to “ that Miss Stanwood ” and “all the rest 
of her tribe .” 

Yet at dinner he tried to make a ridiculous story 
of his afternoon in Nelson Hall. He jested with 
his father over what he called “a crew of women and 
girls under a good - natured young captain named 
Hedges, who was wildly popular and who tore around 
frantically, repairing their bad carpentry and set- 
tling rows with a grouty Irishman. His wit enter- 
tained the rest of his audience, but, for the first time 
within his recollection, it was wasted upon Grace. 

His little sister Eloise was particularly interested 
and amused. She considered Horace a model in all 
things, and it was a delight to her to catch his spirit 
of banter and ridicule and to follow in his wake. 
She had spent the afternoon at dancing-school and 
was somewhat more airy than usual, both in manner 
and costume. There was a girl in her class who 
dressed very elegantly and who had a trick of draw- 
ing herself up and gently rolling her head to one 


GRACE DESBOROUGH. 


129 


side. Eloise had practiced the pose a little, and 
adopted it now as a suitable one while she said: 
“Dear me! nobody at dancing-school would ever 
dream of calling me anything but ‘Miss Desbor- 
ough; ’ what would M. De Gaboulet think if 4 the 
Hannah woman ’ ” — 

“Eloise!” exclaimed Grace, shocked, and Mrs. 
Desborough also called the child to order. 

Eloise was disappointed, and with a little con- 
temptuous sniff, asked to be excused. She did not 
care about dessert, and went away to carry her pose 
and her brother’s amusing stories to her mother’s 
maid. 

“The little prig! Who guessed she was so atten- 
tive?” Horace asked, when she had gone, while his 
father was remarking upon the big ears of little 
pitchers. 

“ She needs the refining polish of dancing-school ; 
I am glad the lessons have begun,” was Mrs. Des- 
borough’s comment. “Only,” she added, for 
Grace’s benefit, “we must be most careful about 
her other associations. Gracie dear, I will say no- 
thing about your friend, Miss Stan wood, but I do 
hope the intimacy between our family and hers will 
go no farther. I am sorry to learn that the little 
Stanwood girl — I forget her name — goes to Mr. 
Abbott’s school. Why could n’t they have sent her 
somewhere else? Here, the first thing I knew, the 
other afternoon, she was going to take Eloise to her 
‘Aunt Maria’s’ to get her doll’s cheeks painted! 
Eloise wanted to take a doll too for this ‘Aunt 
Maria’ to paint! Of course I wouldn’t allow it. 


130 


RACHEL STANWOOD. 


Dear knows who the aunt is, or where she lives, or 
whether she is black or white! The Stan woods’ 
cook is as black as a coal and they call her 4 Aunt ’ 
something! I am sorry, Grace, that you have 
helped to bring Eloise and the Stanwood child to- 
gether. I think, but for your intimacy with the 
elder sister, Eloise might have selected a different 
companion at school.” 

“The little girl’s name is Elizabeth, mamma,” 
said Grace, 44 and I did not bring her and Eloise to- 
gether ; Mr. Jacob Abbott did it. He is writing 
some more Franconia stories, and he reads them 
aloud to the scholars, up in his study, at recess. 
The girls have delightful times there. Rachel says 
that the reward which all of them, old and young, 
value most, is permission to visit Mr. Jacob Abbott 
in his study. He is so lovely to them that the chil- 
dren follow him upstairs and down, whenever they 
get a chance. He has proofs of the illustrations 
of his books, and lets the best-behaved draw lots 
for them. Elizabeth Stanwood gets a good many, 
and she gave some to Eloise. She is a nice little 
girl, mamma, and her Aunt Maria is as pleasant 
with children as Mr. Jacob Abbott is. The chance 
to be with her is a privilege for anybody.” 

“Have you been to see her, Grace? Are you in- 
timate not only with the Stanwoods, but with all 
their relatives?” asked Horace. 

Grace answered coldly, 44 Yes, I have been there, 
and I hope I may be invited to go again.” 

Mrs. Desborough heaved a hopeless little sigh, 
and looked across the table at her husband. 


GRACE DESBOROUGH. 


131 


“What is her name, and where does she live, 
Grace?” her father asked encouragingly. “Tell us 
all about it, my child; it is only fair to give you an 
opportunity to tell us about your friends.” 

“You saw her, papa, at the Stan woods’ party,” 
said Grace. “She is Mrs. Lydia Maria Child, and 
she lives with the old Quaker gentleman and his 
wife whom you pointed out to me that day I went 
down-town with you, — the old gentleman in gray 
short-clothes, with silver buckles. I saw him again 
the day I went to Mrs. Child’s room with Rachel. 
You said he looked like Bonaparte, but his face 
is a thousand times nobler; don’t you think so, 
papa?” 

“Well, yes, I must say I do, Gracie,” said her 
father. “I’ll have to own up to that and to the 
sweetness of his wife’s face, under her ‘sugar-scoop ’ 
bonnet.” He smiled, with a pleasant recollection, 
as he explained across the table to his wife: “Their 
name is Holly and they are a quaint-looking old 
couple, my dear. I have often heard them called 
‘Father ’ and ‘Mother ’ Holly.” 

“Mrs. Child calls them so, but Rachel says only 
‘Friend ’ when she speaks of them,” Grace said. 

“Well, you were going to tell us about Mrs. 
Child,” said Mrs. Desborough, with an expression 
as if she were not going to approve of Mrs. Child if 
she could help it. “We remember very well what 
she looks like ; tell us what sort of person she is, 
and how she lives. If you are going to visit there, 
I should like to know.” 

“Oh, mamma!” said Grace appealingly, “she is 


132 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


as lovely as she can be. The house is on 

Street, near the Bowery, and her room ” — 

“Is a bower, of course,” said Horace laughing*. 
“The mention of it suggests a popular song of in- 
vitation to young ladies who live on the Bowery to 
come out ‘and dance by the light of the moon.’ 
You see, mamma dear, that the house is situated in 
a romantic part of the city.” 

“Oh, Horace, what a tease you can be when you 
try,” said Grace, declining the fruit which her 
brother offered. The waiter had been dismissed 
and they were lingering over the fruit and coffee. 

“Excuse me, little girl,” said Horace courteously. 
“It was rather too bad of me, I confess, and if you 
will go on, I ’ll promise not to interrupt you again. 
1 would really like to know what the house of a 
genuine Quaker looks like inside. The Stanwoods 
are only demi-semi-Quakers, you know.” 

Grace was quiet for a moment or so. It was a 
little hard for her, in an atmosphere of criticism, to 
talk about people who had inspired her with rever- 
ence. She would rather have changed the subject, 
or better still, have remained quiet. But she felt 
on the defense of her friends, and had a great long- 
ing to make her father, at least, understand; so, 
when she was asked again about the house, she 
said : — 

“It is the most peaceful, quiet one I was ever in, 
that is all. It is so quiet that you can hear the 
parlor clock tick, as soon as the front door is closed. 
There is nothing else about it except that everything 
is as spotless and pure as the white kerchief the old 


GRACE DESBOROUGH. 


133 


Quaker lady wears crossed upon her bosom. There 
are a very few engravings on the walls, and I think 
the only things in the house in the way of ornaments 
are the buckles on the old gentleman’s shoes. Don’t 
laugh, Horace ; you would not change a thing there, 
if you could. Then you go upstairs and step into 
Mrs. Child’s parlor and it is as different as it can 
be. You know her stories are full of children? 
She loves children so much that she has her parlor 
full of pictures and images of them. There is a 
large engraving of the Sistine Madonna over the 
piano, and the walls are covered with pictures of 
cherubs and angels. There are Raphael’s children, 
Murillo’s children, Sir Joshua Reynolds’s children, 
everybody’s children. And in one corner there is 
an oil painting of a dirty-faced little beggar, laugh- 
ing. It is life size, and laughs so that you have to 
laugh back when you look at it. Then there are 
images and statuettes of children. Mrs. Child tells 
the children who visit her stories about them just as 
if they were alive. Rachel says the room is like 
Paradise to her little brother and sister, and that, 
when they are cross, she and her mother like to 
send them there.” 

“Pleasant for Mrs. Child! ” remarked Horace. 

“Yes, it is pleasant for her,” said Grace, with 
some spirit. “.Nothing pleases her more than 
changing an unhappy child into a happy one. I 
forgot to say that there is a row of prisms hung in 
one of the windows, and the sun, shining through 
them, makes the colors dance so that one day lit- 
tle Dick Stanwood cried out, as soon as the door 


134 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


was opened, ‘Hullo! I’ve climbed into the rain- 
bow!’” 

“A very pretty account, Grace, very pretty in- 
deed!” said her father. “But you must not give 
Mrs. Child all the glory. I fancy if any cross- 
grained children should meet the old gentleman with 
the silver buckles, on the way upstairs, their ill tem- 
per would stand a poor chance of lasting until they 
reached her room.” 

“Better reconsider, mamma, and allow Eloise to 
go there as often as she gets invited,” said Horace. 

“No, I think not,” rejjlied Mrs. Desborougli. 
“Grace’s story is very pretty, as your father says, 
and I have no doubt that the influence of the people 
over children is charming, but ,” with her chin punc- 
tuating a comma, “there are considerations not to 
be overlooked. If we could confine ourselves to the 
simple personality of the people, it would do very 
well, but that cannot be. If we accepted their 
ideas upon one subject, we should find ourselves tak- 
ing them on others, and that would be dangerous.” 

“You mentioned a piano in Mrs. Child’s parlor, 
Grace,” said her brother. “I thought Quakers ob- 
jected to music and never allowed musical instru- 
ments in their houses.” 

“I asked Rachel about that,” answered Grace, 
“and she says that whatever their own principles 
are in such matters, they never interfere with those 
of others. Ole Bull’s violin was on the piano. He 
often plays there, and Friend Holly does n’t object 
at all. On the contrary, he likes to hear it once in 
a while. Once when he went up to Mrs. Child’s 


GRACE DESBOROUGH. 


135 


parlor, Ole Bull was there, just taking the violin 
out of its case, and Friend Holly said to him: “Ole, 
if thee will play that banjo, give us ‘St. Patrick’s 
Day in the Morning.’ ” 

“Oho!” exclaimed Horace. “Then his princi- 
ples do not forbid him to enjoy music, when he 
gets a chance.” 

Grace was not accustomed to talk at length upon 
any subject, but she felt that she must correct the 
impression that her story had made, so she said ear- 
nestly, “You don’t understand, Horace. He does 
not object to music in itself — he objects to its being 
indulged in as a vanity and extravagance. That is 
the Quaker principle, Rachel says. For instance,” 
holding up a protesting hand to ward off another 
interruption, “ they think music in churches ought 
to be freely offered. To them, as it is given by a 
paid choir, it is like a performance, but” — 

A laugh from her father and brother interrupted 
her, and Mrs. Desborough rising, they all proceeded 
to the parlor. 

“And I think,” said Mrs. Desborough, waiting 
until the laugh ceased, that she might be impressive, 
“that such views are dangerous. It is just as I 
said, — you cannot get the good ideas of those 
Quakers and abolitionists without having to take the 
bad ones too. Grace, are you beginning to have 
doubts about your church service? If I thought 
your friends were leading you to that” — sinking 
into an arm-chair. 

“Oh no, no, mamma!” cried Grace distressed. 
“They never try to lead me away from what I be- 


136 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


lieve ! Does not the fact that Mrs. Child has her 
piano in that house show you how they leave others 
to stand by their principles as firmly as they hold to 
their own? ” 

“There is a great difference, Grace, between that 
lady and you,” said her mother, growing more ear- 
nest as she went on. “ She is old enough to take 
care of herself, but you are not. They may not, 
any of them, preach or try to influence you in any 
way whatever, but, if you are going to persist in as- 
sociating with them, you ’ll be where they are before 
you know it yourself! You have had now, since 
you have been acquainted with the Stanwoods, more 
— more new notions in your brain than you ever 
had disturb you before in your whole life. I don’t 
understand it. Why can’t you take those people as 
you take your other friends? Why can’t you imi- 
tate the old gentleman whom you admire so much, 
and let the Stanwoods and all of them go their 
ways, while you go yours?” 

“Oh, mamma!” cried Grace, “ don't talk so 
about them ! It hurts me. They are so noble, so 
good ! There is a reason why I can’t, and I want 
you ” — She spoke with a piteous accent, feeling, 
in what she knew she was going to say now, the 
weight of displeasure drawing nearer. 

“Well, dear?” asked her mother, her tone, in its 
anxiety, almost as piteous as her daughter’s. “Why 
can’t you lead your own life and leave theirs 
alone?” 

Grace covered her face with her hands as her fa- 
ther put his arm around her and drew her to him, 
asking gently, “Why, Gracie?” 


GRACE DESBOROUGH. 


137 


“Because,” said Grace, raising her head and let- 
ting her hands fall, “ Because I want to live as they 
do!” 

There was a moment’s silence while she was con- 
trolling her emotion. Then her father reached for 
her hand and lifted it while he asked gently again, 
“ Why, Gracie ? Tell us why you want to live like 
those people.” 

“Because they live more in a single day than 
other people live in a month,” she said. “They 
make me feel as no one else ever did. After I 
have been among them I feel as if I was worth more 
than I ever found out before. I want to use all the 
power I ’ve got, just as well as I can, and to help 
others, out in the world, with it. They make me 
feel like trying not to waste a bit of it. And I 
want to use it for the ones who need it most, — I 
want to use it for the slaves 1 ” 

She leaned her head against her father and could 
not say any more. He stroked her hair, not know- 
ing what to say, and looked beyond her to his wife’s 
face, which was turned to him appealingly. Hor- 
ace, in the doorway, heard all that his sister said, 
and his eyes were bent upon her. He had started 
to go to the library, where his father and he usually 
had a smoke together after dinner, but his ear 
caught Grace’s tone and words and he stopped to 
listen. He had been covering up his feelings, try- 
ing to hide them even from himself, in his talk at 
dinner. But in every word Grace spoke she was 
revealing her heart. 

“Well, well!” said Mr. Desborough, in a cheer- 


138 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


ful tone, after a moment, “ There is no harm in all 
that. The person who makes us wish to do our 
best in the world is a right sort of friend to have. 
Your mother and I don’t wish you to give up Miss 
Stanwood, — not a bit of it! 1 shan’t like her, 
though, if she makes you unhappy, little girl, be 
sure of that! She must put bright thoughts and 
not dreary ones into this little head ! ” 

“Of course! It is only your happiness we think 
of, dear,” said her mother, eagerly, and believing 
that she was pouring balm on her daughter’s soul. 
“All we wish to do is to help you to be cautious be- 
fore it is too late. We want you to enjoy these 
friends of yours all you can, reasonably. Only we 
hope you won’t give too much time to them in 
preference to others, or identify yourself with their 
particular hobbies. You want to go to this fair, 
for instance. Now, if you would sacrifice that little 
pleasure, it would be wise and good of you and 
would please us very much. You know we don’t 
approve of slavery, any more than the Stanwoods 
and those other people do. It is a cruel wrong, 
every way, and no people would be more glad than 
we should be if it did not exist. But it does exist, 
and if our country suffers from it, why, we must 
suffer with our country! ” Mrs. Desborough’s chin 
here punctuated a full period. She was delighted 
with her eloquence and thought she was setting 
things before her daughter in the fairest and most 
persuasive way possible. The idea of suffering with 
her country pleased her particularly, and she re- 
peated it, period and all. “We must suffer with 


4 


GRACE DESBOROUGII. 139 

our country and be patient. To take the course 
which abolitionists would recommend would result 
in — in” — She was not clear as to what course 
the abolitionists would propose, or its effect, and 
halted. Her husband came to her rescue and said, 
“It would result in anarchy and disruption, of 
course.” Then he went on to offer to Grace the 
comfort which seemed to him most likely to soothe 
and cheer her. 

“We should be glad to see the curse removed, 
Gracie, but we think it can be done best by a grad- 
ual and temporizing process. We do not approve 
of aggressive measures, like public fairs. I don’t 
mind your giving a little money to Miss Stanwood, 
to use according to her discretion, but if you go to 
the fair and take any active part in it, why, don’t 
you see, you will be identifying yourself with its 
projectors, and our friends will identify you as an 
abolitionist! Don’t you see this, my child?” 

With his hands on her shoulders, he was looking 
down at her, but he could not know what was be- 
hind her quiet gaze. She stepped back a little and 
clasped her hands together. “Yes, papa, I see it, 
and I cannot help it,” she said in an unsteady voice, 
but keeping her eyes upon his face. “I have been 
thinking, and praying for help to think rightly 
about it, and I know what I believe. And I think 
I ought not to hide it. I am not important in any 
way, but that does n’t make any difference. I 
want to stand by Rachel Stanwood and let every- 
body know that I too am an abolitionist, — like her. 
I am sorry ” — her voice was breaking pitifully, — 


140 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


“sorry to think what you, and mamma, and Horace 
don’t want me to, but — but” — She waited, and 
then began again. “It is not enough only to be- 
lieve that slavery is wicked. Giving your money 
would not be enough. I must give myself, papa ! 
Nothing else will do, — nothing else will do ! ” 

She threw herself upon his breast and her voice 
broke into sobs. Across her golden hair he and his 
wife were looking at each other again in sore per- 
plexity. 

Horace, too, carried a troubled face upstairs. 
He had heard all, but he had no help to offer on 
either side, and he went, unobserved, up into the 
library to think it out over a cigar. 

So a new complication had come into the Des- 
borough family. Quiet, gentle Grace who had 
always done just as she was told, had never opposed 
anybody or anything, but had patiently and dili- 
gently traveled along the path which was pointed 
out for her; who had left school, joined classes, 
studied music and flower-painting, “come out” in 
society, all just as she was bidden, and had followed 
her mother into church and out again, regularly, 
without ever intimating an independent thought or 
wish of any consequence, — Grace now, at last, had 
a conviction and a conscience to back it up, and 
they were going to force her to act in opposition to 
all her family ! 

It was a great annoyance ! There were long talks 
and discussions about it between Mr. and Mrs. 
Pesborough and Horace. Mrs. Desborough com- 


GRACE BE SB OR O U GH. 


141 


plained and, again and again, marveled at the sud- 
denness and mystery of it. “Why!” she said, 
in amazement, “she and I have been everywhere 
together ! W e have scarcely been separated ! Ex- 
cepting to two meetings of that fair sewing-circle, 
and occasionally to a few places with Miss Stan- 
wood, the child has been nowhere without me, not 
even to church ! ” 

“‘Excepting’!” said Horace, in an undertone. 
“In that word lies all the mischief! ” But he spoke 
rather to himself. His mother went on, — 

“Yes, we have knelt together in the same church, 
and I thought we were saying together the same 
prayers, and now look at this ! ” 

She could not get over it. The idea that Grace 
could even commune with the Lord without consult- 
ing her was unaccountable. She did not agree 
with her husband in thinking that they had better 
not oppose Grace’s going to the fair. She thought 
the girl ought to be kept removed as far as possible 
from the influences which had led her so astray. 
She expressed her opinion to Horace, and he sus- 
tained her in it as strongly as he could. He worked 
himself up to greater earnestness because his argu- 
ments were directed to himself. He uttered the fam- 
ily sentiments and was loyal to the family prejudices. 
He urged his father to use the simple means within 
his power to keep Grace from going to the fair. 

But his father was a diplomatist and knew that 
he could not strengthen Grace in her convictions in 
a surer way than by interfering with the liberty of 
action to which her years entitled her. 


142 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


So the conversations ended by his saying that 
Grace must be allowed to attend the fair and to get 
all the satisfaction she wanted to from it. 

“Treat the whole subject as a matter of temporary 
interest,” he said, “and it will blow over. Make 
a serious business of it and you bind Grace over, 
heart and soul, to her abolitionism.” 


v 


CHAPTER VII. 


THE FIRST DAY AT THE FAIR. 

The rain fell in torrents on Monday. It beat 
upon the window panes of Nelson Hall and seemed 
to jeer in the very face of the gay autumn leaves 
pasted upon them. The printed placard, which 
was to announce the fair so boldly on the sidewalk, 
had to stand inside of the entrance, and the trian- 
gular transparency jutting out between two of the 
front windows had all the heralding to do alone. 
Its cotton sides looked as if they were not going to 
hold out against the buffeting of the storm. When 
the first group of ladies arrived, the prospect was 
dismal. The janitor appeared surprised even to see 
them, professing to take for granted the necessity of 
postponing the occasion altogether. Some of the 
ladies seemed to think this course would be wise. 

“What is the use of everybody’s taking cold for 
nothing?” Friend Snow asked, folding her long 
cloak around her more closely. 

Even Mrs. Morton considered the advisability of 
countermanding the order for ice-cream. “We 
shall certainly want so little to-day,” she said, “that 
we can do without any ; coffee and chocolate will do 
instead.” 

Mrs. Morton and Friend Snow had come together 


144 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


in a hack, with a load of parcels and the parapher- 
nalia for making tea, coffee, and chocolate. Some 
other ladies had also arrived and were prodding 
the janitor to turn on the heat and to sell them at 
double price sufficient coal to supply the stove upon 
which the cooking was to be done. 

Friend Snow, standing gloomily at the door, took 
a survey of the comfortless hall and said, “It looks 
about as much like having a funeral as a fair! ” 
“Oh, no!” said a bright voice behind her, and 
Mrs. Stanwood, out of breath from hurrying up the 
stairs, brought the first cheerful atmosphere into the 
room. Instantly she was the centre against which 
were hurled all the doubts which had arisen : — 

“Is it worth while to arrange the tables?” 
“Hadn’t the refreshments better be kept until to- 
morrow?” “Why let things be unpacked only to 
get shabby and finger-marked?” “Not a soul 
will come!” And Friend Snow, shivering, said, 
“We ’ll catch our deaths! ” 

Mrs. Stanwood recovered her breath. “Tabitha 
Snow,” she said, “if thee has set thy heart on a 
funeral, go look out of the front windows, and one 
will pass in the course of time; we can’t have one 
here, — it ’s not convenient ! ” 

Then she untied her bonnet, saying to the others 
with decision: “We’ll open the fair to-day at three 
o’clock, the hour fixed upon. Suppose it does rain? 
What then? Let it! That is a thing for which 
we are not responsible. What the weather does 
is none of our business. Get the tables ready, — 
that ’s our work. ” 


THE FIRST DAY AT THE FAIR. 145 

“Of course,” said Friend Snow, “we all know 
what thee would say, but ” — 

“Hark!” said Mrs. Norris, a tall, fresh-looking 
Quaker lady who had taken off her bonnet and cloak 
and was' already prepared for work. She had her 
hands on a table to place it in position. “It does 
n’t sound funereal, Tabitha, but listen! ” she said. 

There was a lull in the noise of the street, as a 
heavy omnibus stopped under the windows, and a 
chorus of young voices was heard out in the storm, 
singing lustily, — 

“ Ho ! the car Emancipation 
Rides triumphant through the Nation.” 

“It is William Hedges and Joseph Norris, with 
all the girls in an omnibus,” said Mrs. Quimby, 
from the window. “The boys have been riding on 
top, with the evergreens and the driver. They must 
be drenched through to the bones ! ” 

“ E-e-mancipation 

Rides triumphant through the Nation,” 

sounded again on its way up the stairs, and, in a 
moment, a dozen young girls came singing and 
laughing into the room, laden to their chins with 
parcels of all shapes and sizes. As the older ladies 
met them and helped with their parcels, the song 
broke to pieces in a medley of chattering voices 
which were accounting for their coming in such a 
gay and unlooked-for manner. When the fragments 
of explanations were patched together it made a 
droll story of how, the evening before, every girl 
had received a secret command to wait at home, in 


146 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


the morning, until called for ; how they did not know 
what to make of the message, until the stage had 
“picked them all up, bag and baggage.” “On 
receipt of the last girl called for, William Hedges 
had started the song through the money-hole in the 
coach roof.” “Oh, of course it was Will who 
started it all. He invented, and Jo Norris and Ned 
Quimby abetted.” 

The tale was barely told when the young fellows 
appeared, carrying so much evergreen that they 
looked as if they might have come from Dunsinane. 
W r ilTs load deposited, he hurried out again to bring 
in some boxes for Grace Desborough, who had 
driven up in her carriage just as the omnibus was 
emptied. 

“Gracie!” exclaimed Rachel, full of joy at sight 
of her friend. “Is this another of thy surprises, 
Will? Was her coming preconcerted, too?” 

“No, that was inspiration; to make up for the 
weather and put it to shame,” said Will gayly. 
“ Susy Morton, take my hat off for me, please. 
Thank thee ! Now, where shall these boxes go, Miss 
Desborough? ” 

Grace passed the question to Rachel, who gave a 
little scream of delight as Will set the boxes down 
upon a table, and Grace lifted the lids, discovering 
treasures of hot-house flowers. “Oh! Oh! Girls, 
come and look!” cried Rachel, and the girls bent 
their heads over the boxes, sniffed and “Oh”-ed in 
chorus. 

In a few minutes the commotion of getting to 
work began. Boards and trestles were converted 


THE FIRST DAY AT THE FAIR. 147 

into tables and speedily concealed under white 
muslin; racks and frameworks were fastened up, 
and the stacks of evergreen disposed of to advan- 
tage. Ugly gas-jets, unsightly stains or defects 
were hidden under branches of bitter-sweet, holly, 
and evergreen, which had been, much of it, gathered 
by the young men in places out of the city, — Staten 
Island, or the Jersey shore. It was not so easy 
then, as it is now, to buy it at market or on the 
street corners, by the yard or bushel; young men 
tramped for it and girls wove and tied it into gar- 
lands themselves. 

By the appointed hour the fair was open. The 
tables were laden with treasures, and the girls, with 
their mysterious skill, had concealed all traces of 
labor, disorder, and confusion, exchanged working 
aprons for dainty fresh ones, and were ready for 
customers. They were, most of them, dressed in 
the quiet grays, fawn colors, and browns which 
Quakers loved, and looked very attractive in the gay 
setting of display and decorations. Many of the 
things offered for sale seem now among the lost arts. 
Fingers, not sewing-machines, had done the work 
upon them. The almost invisible stitches on those 
home-made aprons, little baby-dresses and garments, 
needle-books and pincushions, purses, card-cases, 
and work-basket furnishings of bronze morocco and 
dove - colored chamois skin ; the delicate - colored, 
hand-knitted “nubias,” and those little, three-cor- 
nered “rigolettes,” so exquisite in their daintiness 
and so becoming, could only be found at an anti- 
slavery fair. 


148 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


The very toys there were dainty. The dolls were 
dressed with simple taste, in clothes which could 
bear the closest inspection, and which set the high- 
est standard of neatness for the fortunate children 
who were to possess them. The French doll, with 
its prettier face and its furbelows, had not been 
imported then, and children were not tied, like bon- 
bons, in big sashes and worked up into decorations. 

Never was a creature happier than Grace Desbor- 
ougli. Her face was radiant, and the work of her 
hands like magic. She had charge of the flower 
table, which was in the centre of the room and built 
like a bower. Her flowers were unpacked, grouped 
in vases or wet moss, or hung in globes and baskets 
among the evergreens, long before the dressing of 
the other tables was completed. Mrs. Child, com- 
ing to bring some contributions for one of the tables, 
smiled to herself as she watched Grace’s sunny head 
appear and disappear under the little arches, and 
said to Friend Snow, “She reminds me of Correg- 
gio’s medallions.” But she had her simile to her- 
self, for Friend Snow had never heard of Correggio 
or his medallions, and considered Grace’s bower 
worldly and a vanity. 

The rain continued to fall without cessation and 
rattled all day against the window-panes, but inside 
the hall the aspect of things was bright. Anti- 
slavery people, accustomed to buffetings and storms, 
were not easily daunted. Better than any other 
people they knew how to stand by one another, and 
the darker the sky grew outside the brighter their 
spirits seemed to become. 


THE FIRST DAY AT THE FAIR. 149 

The girls were ready to sell their wares long be- 
fore there were any customers to buy. But they 
resorted to many devices in order to keep up their 
cheerfulness, and gathered their first profits from 
one another. Purchasers came straggling along in 
small groups, but at no time during the afternoon 
or evening was the room full enough to have any- 
thing like a general aspect of activity. They were 
the friends of the cause, the workers and ardent 
ones, who braved the storm and gave their patron- 
age to the fair on that first day. Excepting at the 
refreshment tables, upon the resources of which 
everybody depended for meals, Grace, in her bower, 
had the best market for her flowers. She was 
pointed out as a new recruit and was, unconsciously, 
an object of much interest. Curious eyes and 
kindly looks were turned upon her, and those who 
bought her flowers often asked to be introduced to 
her. She recognized a number whom she had seen 
at the Stan woods’ party, and learned a good deal 
about them from the girls who left their own tables 
sometimes to sit with her. 

Her most extravagant customer was Mr. Burton 
Riverston, who bought her handsomest flowers for 
Rachel. Ned Quimby, Jo Norris, and some of the 
other young Quakers came for little bouquets, which 
they carried off to different girls, and Will Hedges 
came for a bunch of violets. He was going away 
with them just as Horace appeared, early in the 
evening. 

Grace invited her brother to a seat inside of her 
bower, but he declined it, saying, “Thank you, I 


150 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


am not ready yet to be framed for exhibition.” 
Grace laughed and said nobody would notice him 
among the shadows of the evergreens. 

He did not hear her, because he was watching to 
see if Mr. Hedges was going to present his violets 
to Rachel. 

“ Stupid jackass! ” he said, as Will gave them to 
Friend Snow, who was sitting dismally alone be- 
hind one of the refreshment tables. Grace noticed 
the act also and flushed with pleasure as she saw 
the old lady’s grim face light up. 

“She ’s the grenadier, — Tabitha,” said Horace, 
idly leaning on the counter. “Has she got any 
other name?” 

“They call her ‘Friend Snow,’ ” said Grace, eager 
to interest him, leaning forward under one of her 
little arches. “She preaches, I believe, and — Oh, 
there is Miss Frederika Bremer, going to speak to 
Mr. Hedges. How little she looks beside him! 
Don’t you remember seeing her at the Stan woods’ ? 
I like to watch her; she looks so like Cinderella’s 
godmother, in that cap of rich old lace ! She ought 
to have a wand in her hand, and then she ’d be per- 
fect. If you could see what beautiful little hands 
she has, you would believe they really had fairy 
power of some kind.” 

“ W ell, have n’t they ? Don’t they write wonder- 
ful stories?” Horace asked, watching Miss Bremer 
as she was looking up into Will Hedges’ face and 
laughing merrily. “A good story is worth more 
than a pumpkin chariot, any day.” 

“Of course it is,” said Grace, pleased with the 


THE FIRST DAY AT THE FAIR. 151 

thought and glad that Horace seemed satisfied with 
one person, at least. “Oh, don’t go! She is tak- 
ing Mr. Hedges’ arm and they are coming this 
way. Wouldn’t you like to be introduced to her, 
Horace? ” 

“I will leave Mr. Hedges undisturbed posses- 
sion; he seems partial to old ladies,” he said. But 
he was a moment too late. Will was shaking hands 
with him and presenting him to Miss Bremer while 
a pleasant voice at his back was saying to Grace, 
“We would each like a bunch of these red berries.” 
Horace moved to give place to two middle - aged 
ladies in big bonnets under the capes of which was 
visible their short, silver hair. It was straight and 
stiff on the head of the shorter lady and concealed 
in front by a heavy cap-frill. The other lady wore 
no cap ; her hair was wavy over the temples, and at 
the back in rings which would be curls if allowed to 
grow long enough. If, instead of the scant, angular 
style of her clothes, she had been dressed in some 
simple fashion of the day, she would have shown for 
what she was, a fine-looking woman. 

Miss Bremer turned quickly to greet the two la- 
dies with enthusiasm, and Horace was drawn into 
further introductions to Miss Marcia and Miss Eve- 
lina Saunders. They had been at the fair all the 
afternoon, and in half an hour’s conversation which 
Grace had had with them, she had discovered so 
much benevolence and gracious gentleness that she 
had forgotten the oddity of their appearance. Now, 
somehow, she longed to put herself between them 
and her brother, and protect them from his criticism 


152 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


which, however concealed from observation, she 
knew was inevitable. But they lingered over their 
purchases, and in the meagrely filled room they were 
in bold relief as they walked away. 

Grace staved off a comment from Horace by lean- 
ing out of her leafy frame to whisper anxiously, 
“Did you see their faces, Horace? One of them 
has such pretty eyes. And listen, - — they used to 
be wealthy. They lived in the South and had 
slaves, but they set them free. They made them- 
selves poor by giving liberty to their slaves. 
Wasn’t it noble and beautiful of them? ” 

“It would be equally noble if they did not look 
as if they came out of the ark. Here comes an- 
other! Grace, I’m going; your table attracts too 
many — ark-angels ! ” 

He walked away in the direction of Rachel’s 
table, which seemed a centre of attraction. He 
leaned against a pillar near it and waited for her 
customers to get through with their purchases and 
leave her. He was surprised to see Burton River- 
ston hovering around the table and seizing oppor- 
tunities to alight in the openings. 

“H’lo, old fellow!” said Riverston presently, 
perceiving him. “What are you doing here? ” 
“Studying humanity and wishing I was a stage 
manager,” said Horace. “What are you after? ” 
“Well, if you want to know,” said Riverston, 
backing up against Horace’s pillar and turning his 
head so as to speak confidentially, “I ’m after Miss 
Stanwood. Isn’t she a stunner? Look at her, — 
she ’s recognizing somebody she likes. Ever see a 


THE FIRST DAY AT THE FAIR. 153 

face light up like that? Wonder who got the bene- 
fit ? There is n’t a woman in New York with a head 
set on her shoulders so finely, or with such a head. 
I ’ve been trying to get one of the things she made 
herself, but she won’t sell me what I want. Here ’s 
a chance ! Come and help a fellow ! ” 

The two went up to the counter. Rachel smiled 
and held out her hand to Horace, across the table. 

“I was surprised to see Grace, after all the 
scruples you have shown, Mr. Desborough,” she 
said gayly. “Considering your prejudices, you are 
very good to lend her to us.” 

“I am afraid she is overdoing the business, Miss 
Stanwood,” said Horace, “and that my prejudices 
would have prevented her from coming, had they 
been as influential as you seem to think.” 

“I am glad if they are less so,” she said, looking 
a little disappointed, “but I am sorry to have to 
withdraw the credit I had given you. You are not 
responsible, then, for Grace’s coming? And we 
mustn’t be a bit indebted to you?” 

“No, Miss Stanwood,” said Horace, wishing she 
would not ask such questions, throwing him at once 
upon his honesty, and forcing him to remind her of 
what she disapproved in him. She seemed to wait 
for him to say more, and he gave her the whole truth : 
“My sister is here on her own responsibility, and 
against the wishes of her family, who have yielded 
their — prejudices, if you call them so — to hers. 
I am here simply as her escort, that is all.” 

“And after such an outrageously ungallant con- 
fession, you must not sell him a copper’s worth!” 


154 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


exclaimed Mr. Riverston, quite willing that Horace 
should appear in an unfavorable light. 

Horace protested and claimed the right of a pur- 
chaser. A contest followed between the young men 
to obtain possession of some bit of Rachel’s handi- 
work, but it ended in their defeat and the discovery 
that the last piece had been sold. 

Susy Morton, who enjoyed the contest hugely, 
pointed to the little figure of Miss Marcia Saunders, 
who was walking away with Mr. Stanwood, and, 
after informing the young gentlemen that the last 
piece of Miss Stanwood ’s work was sold, added mis- 
chievously, — 

“There it goes, in that lady’s satchel.” 

Riverston made a dive after the lady and boldly 
asked Mr. Stanwood to introduce him to her. Ra- 
chel heard Horace say, “Mrs. Noah!” under his 
breath, as he looked after them. She was uncom- 
fortable. She did not enjoy Mr. Riverston, his at- 
tentions, or admiration. She wanted to get rid of 
him and was puzzled to know how. When she saw 
Horace approach, she thought he would help her, 
but his explanation of Grace’s presence at the fair 
made a new worry for her. It would very mate- 
rially mar her pleasure in Grace’s company and aid, 
to have her there against the will of her family. 
She had of late accused herself of injustice toward 
the Desborough family, and, in reaction, her heart 
had warmed toward them, even to making her feel 
indebted in part to Mrs. Desborough for the flowers 
Grace had brought. But now her happiness was 
bruised ; Grace was there confessedly under protest. 


THE FIRST DAY AT THE FAIR. 


155 


Her brother had come only to accompany her home, 
and was amusing himself with the eccentricities of 
people a thousand times his superiors. 

Susy, too, had heard him call Miss Marcia “Mrs. 
Noah,” and could not help laughing. “There isn’t 
*’ a bit of use in denying a resemblance,” she whis- 
pered to Rachel. 

“I don’t deny it,” Rachel answered indignantly. 
“But she can afford to look as she pleases, and he 
can't afford to criticise her. I despise him! ” Im- 
pulsively she stepped out from behind her table and 
went to prevent Miss Saunders from giving up her 
purchase, a cheap little purse, to Mr. Riverston. 
The latter was offering a five-dollar bill for it. 

The little lady did not know what to make of his 
extravagant offer, or of Rachel suddenly putting an 
arm around her and whispering affectionately, — 

“Please keep the purse, Miss Saunders, as a 
keepsake from me. Here is the half dollar you 
gave Susy Morton for it. Don’t let anybody else 
have it, will you? Indeed, I have a reason for 
asking you not to.” 

“I see that I am baffled,” said Mr. Riverston, 
with chagrin. Thrusting the bill back into his 
pocket-book he offered the latter to Miss Saunders, 
with an extravagance of manner worthy of the comic 
stage, saying, — 

“Madam, I offer an exchange. Take all I have 
and give me only Miss Stanwood’s little empty 
purse ! ” 

Miss Saunders looked up at Rachel, and then, 
folding her spare arms around her bag as if it were 


156 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


a baby, smiled at the young man and said, “Not for 
anything you can offer me.” 

“A moment more and I ’d have had it! It was 
pure cruelty in you to interfere,” he said to Rachel. 
Then to Miss Saunders once more, tapping his 
pocket-book, “Have you considered the profit to the 
Cause? ” 

But the lady only looked placidly up at him 
through her silver spectacles and answered, “The 
Cause is not the question to be considered in this 
matter.” And, turning to Mr. Stan wood, she said, 
as if she were beginning a lecture, “Necessity de- 
mands that the irrepressible conflict shall be main- 
tained by constant reinforcements of courage, elo- 
quence, persistency, and the unquenchable fire of 
anti-slavery opposition ! ” 

By the time she reached “persistency,” Riverston 
put his purse into his pocket and went to join Ra- 
chel again. 

Rachel did not immediately return to her table. 
She wanted to show Horace Desborough her own 
estimation of the people whom he held in contempt. 
It was not her way to be demonstrative, more par- 
ticularly in public, but she had put her arm around 
Miss Saunders purposely, because she knew that he 
was watching her, and she wished now that some 
more of the people who might be subjects for his 
ridicule would come along that she might show him 
her attitude toward them. No one did, however. It 
was late and people were going home. Mr. River- 
ston joined her again, saying, “I am quite crestfal- 
len, Miss Stanwood. The lady is deaf, dumb, and 


THE FIRST DAY AT THE FAIR. 157 

blind to me henceforth, and you are responsible for 
withholding a handsome profit from the fair.” 

“That is better than being responsible for dis- 
honesty in trade,” said Rachel unthinkingly, and 
looking about her for some excuse to send him 
away. 

“Oh, but you don’t know the extent of your re- 
sponsibility, Miss Stanwood!” he exclaimed, in a 
low tone, as she moved along. “If you would only 
allow me to explain, I could show you” — 

“I doubt it,” she interrupted. “I am more 
stupid than you think. But there,” in a brighter 
tone, and pointing to Hetty Bixby, “is a young lady 
to whom you can show some gallantry, if you will 
be so kind, Mr. Riverston. It is time to shut up 
shop, and Miss Bixby is struggling to get down 
those things in order to put them away for the 
night: would you mind helping her? ” 

He did mind, but there was nothing for him to do 
but comply, and he went, wishing poor little Hetty 
was in Jericho. 

Horace went to help Grace, wondering why Ra- 
chel declined his offer of assistance in such a freez- 
ing manner. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


FACE TO FACE WITH THE QUESTION. 

The storm lasted two days, but on the third, the 
last one of the fair, the sky was clear, and the sun, 
lighting Nelson Hall, brought out in bold relief the 
gay and pretty aspect of decoration and the display 
of table furnishings which were still pitifully abun- 
dant. It brought bloom, too, to the young faces, and 
gay spirits which made up for the bravely concealed 
depression of two dull days. That day of sunshine 
saved the fair from failure. People began to come 
at an early hour to make purchases and the girls at 
their tables brightened to see things which they had 
worked hard to make find a market at last. Every- 
where there was a buzz of happiness because the 
strain was over, and success assured. 

At the refreshment tables business was particu- 
larly active, and when the luncheon hour arrived, 
the service was discovered to be so deficient that 
Mrs. Quimby sent a messenger to her house for 
Havilah Moore to come and help. It was a rash 
act for Havilah to show herself in so public a place, 
but rashness protected as often as it exposed fugi- 
tives ; and when the question of sending for the girl 
was considered, and the risk to her safety suggested, 
it was decided that wherever Havilah moved, or 


FACE TO FACE WITH THE QUESTION. 159 

remained, tlie risks moved or remained with her. 
Certainly she could be nowhere surrounded by more 
or better protectors than at the fair. Then she was 
given work to do almost exclusively in the anteroom, 
where customers were not invited and where she 
would not attract observation. 

The fugitives had been separated from one an- 
other, for greater security. Little Diana was with 
her mother, in the charge of the Quimbys, living in 
clover under their protection. Delphina had been 
sent to the Mortons, much against her will, and 
was only prevailed upon to leave the Stanwoods as 
a temporary arrangement. As soon as Havilah and 
her child were safely disposed of together some- 
where, unless Mr. Suydan made his appearance 
again with renewed suspicions of the Stanwoods’ 
house, Delphina was to return there. So far as she 
was concerned, the thought of her master was not 
disturbing in the least. She was out of his clutches. 
“Marse Tawm ain’t smaht ’nough to cotch me,” she 
declared, and repeated, “not smaht ’nough! He 
ain’t got ’nough senses! Hablali, now, she betteh 
look out; she can’t fly roun’ an’ fin’ herse’f nowliahs 
de way /ken; she ’sgot Di on demin’, an’ she ain’t 
got time to grab de chances. Ef Marse Tawm comes 
yer lookin’ up niggehs, he ’ll get mad cose dey ain’t 
in de places whah he ’spec’s. He ain’t got no sense 
w’en he’s mad! Ho! ho! an’ ’fore he comes to, 
I ’s quit. But Hablah, she ’s lookin’ roun’ for de 
chile, an’ she ’s dah, on de spot.” 

Delphina had been happy and indefatigable dur- 
ing the preparations for the fair. No work was 


160 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


hard enough for her, nothing could subdue her un- 
bounded joy in being allowed to help. A fair was 
to her, in any case, a grand, unmitigated frolic, but 
when she learned the object of this one, she was 
irrepressible in her delight. The occasion assumed 
proportions beyond description, and the results were 
going to be gigantic in benefits to the slaves. Her 
idea seemed to be that if her master wanted to re- 
cover his property, he had better be quick about it, 
because, after the fair, he would not “dahster show 
his face in de Norf ! ” She had been allowed to ac- 
company Rebecca and Susy Morton to the hall on 
the two rainy days, and during the dreary inactivity 
of them she had been an entertainment to every- 
body. Miss Bremer had given her a new silver 
dollar to spend, and the result was interesting. She 
wandered from end to end of the room, investigating 
and inspecting at each table in turn, making up her 
mind what to buy. Again and again she came to a 
decision and selected, sometimes one article, some- 
times several articles, but, when it came to the mo- 
ment of parting with her dollar, she could not make 
the sacrifice. One after another, the girls tried to 
help her, and in at least a dozen instances, their 
efforts were crowned with success; but within the 
next half hour Delphina had either returned with 
what she had bought, begging her dollar back 
again, or she was hunted up by some soft-hearted 
girl who presented her with the purchase and re- 
stored the precious coin for her to spend again. 
Her taste leading her to select from the crocheted 
tidies, worsted mats, impractical, barren -looking 


FACE TO FACE WITH THE QUESTION. 161 

pincushions, bright-colored scarfs, or fancy articles 
which were unsalable, her heap of treasures grew 
larger and larger and still the dollar kept coming 
back to her. In the course of the two days Del- 
phina and her money became a familiar source of 
amusement to the girls, who got up innocent tilts 
to see who could palm off certain things upon the 
persistent customer or get temporary possession of 
her dollar. 

On the third day it was deemed prudent to leave 
her at home, the pleasant weather promising the ad- 
vent of possible strangers and too much business to 
admit of supervision over her. She was somewhat 
afflicted at the deprivation, but was consoled with 
her fantastic possessions and the promise of more. 

At the hour when afternoon visitors had gone 
away and before the evening ones began to come, a 
group of young people were gathered around Ra- 
chel’s and Susy’s table, having a sociable little chat. 

“Come, Meg,” called Rebecca Morton to a girl 
who was coming toward them carrying a quantity 
of moss-covered, home-made baskets. “Stop work 
and come eat candy. The boys’ feelings are hurt 
because our demands are not equal to their supply.” 

“I won’t eat a one, unless somebody solves my 
problem, — What is to be done with these things? ” 
And she set down her stack of baskets upon the 
table. 

“Oh dear!” sighed Rachel Stan wood. “Miss 
Letitia Hetherby spent all last summer making 
those, and” — 

“They ’re as ugly as sin!” said Meg. “Thy 


162 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


mother sent ’em over to my table, Rebecca Morton, 
and I ’ll never forgive her.” 

“Aunt Debby sent ’em to mine first, — they’ve 
been the rounds and nobody ’ll have ’em,” said Re- 
becca. 

“No mortal would have one as a gift,” said Susy. 
“Let ’s give them to the boys! ” 

“Hear! Hear! ’’cried the young men in chorus, 
while everybody laughed, and Jo Norris, rising to 
make a low bow to Susy, said, “ She puts us among 
the immortals ! ” 

“Miss Hetherby will be broken hearted if they 
don’t sell. Oh dear! I wonder how many will 
drift into our house ! ” said Rachel dolefully. 

“Here, Betty! ” called Grace Desborough, taking 
one of the baskets and going after Elizabeth, who 
was meandering around the deserted flower-table, 
in aimless search of diversion. Elizabeth was tired 
out, and wished it would not be improper for her to 
climb up and sit on the counter with her brother 
Richard. Grace had a little scheme for improving 
the baskets, and seeing the children, she mercifully 
worked them into it. Elizabeth was delighted to 
be taken inside of the bower and shown a seat where 
she could rest, and Richard thought Grace was the 
loveliest person he had ever seen, when she laid her 
hands on the calves of his legs and stopped him 
from climbing down off the counter, saying, — 

“No, no, don’t get down. I want a boy to sit 
right there and help me make something.” 

“Help, sitting down?” asked Richard, in a sur- 
prised tone. “I thought boys helped running er- 
rands.” 


FACE TO FACE WITH THE QUESTION. 163 

Grace said, “Poor child! ” and then, thinking he 
would not like to be pitied, said, “They do help 
that way, ever and ever so much. How many miles 
do you suppose these two feet have trotted to-day 
for people? ” 

Richard looked into her eyes, as she stood before 
him, with her hands on his feet, and said seriously, 
“A hundred million miles, and I just wish they 
had n’t gone a step ! ” 

Elizabeth protested, “O — h, Dick! How can 
thee tell such a story! And thee don’t wish that, 
when thee got five-cent grabs and pennies, and ice- 
cream, and all sorts of things to pay for” — 

“I don’t care if I did! ” snapped Richard, spoil- 
ing for a quarrel. “I don’t care if I did; my legs 
got tired just the same, and I guess if thy legs had 
bones in ’em, thee ’d ” — 

“As if legs didn’t always have bones!” said 
Betty contemptuously. 

“But he means tired bones, and they are differ- 
ent, aren’t they?” asked Grace, rubbing his small 
legs up and down. 

“Yes, they are!” said Dick, looking thunder- 
clouds at Betty. “Friend Snow kept sending me 
errands all the time and kept saying she couldn’t 
go ’cause she had a bone in her leg. I mean that 
kind and Betty knows it. An’ I got tired of grabs 
when I found out that lots of ’em was the same 
thing. And then I got too full of ice-cream, ’cause 
all the different ladies gave me plates without know- 
ing I ’d had any, an’ it wasn’t polite not to eat any, 
and I couldn’t help leaving some, — an’ that ain’t 


164 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


polite, either, and Betty might have atten what I 
left!” 

“/ was full, too!” cried Betty, in self-defense. 
“They gave it to me five times, and I had to get 
Delphiny to eat my last plate, so Friend Quimby 
would n’t know I did n’t like it. And I did n’t ” — 
Betty stopped, wanting to cry. She fought hard 
with her dignity, not to compromise it before 
Grace. 

Grace, seeing an opening, struck in deftly with 
her scheme to improve the moss-baskets by filling 
them with evergreens and red berries, and in a few 
minutes, under her instruction, the children were 
intently absorbed in delightful occupation. 

Presently Will Hedges, putting his head under 
one of the arches, discovered them. 

“Halloa! ” he said. “What have you here, Miss 
Desborough? A lady-slipper and a dandy -lion! 
How much do you ask for the two? I ’ll take them 
at once, if you please. Never mind the price; 
they ’re worth it. Whew ! ” 

The children went into fits of laughter. They 
thought Will the embodiment of wit, wisdom, and 
everything attractive. 

To express his delight, Dick squared off at him. 
Betty held up her basket. 

“Wh-e-e-ew! ” whistled Will. “Did thee make 
that, Betty, with only ten fingers? Well, is that 
for sale? Can I have it for this?” laying a half 
dollar on the counter. 

Betty’s joy was supreme. She handed over the 
basket instantly. Will made a bargain also for 


FACE TO FACE WITH THE QUESTION. 165 

Dick’s basket, and the children were so pleased with 
the commercial transaction that they carried their 
gains off to show to their father at once. For 
a moment, Will watched Grace’s hands fastening- 
bitter-sweet over the handle of the basket which she 
was adorning. He praised the skill with which she 
concealed its ugliness, and asked permission to pur- 
chase it. 

Grace demurred at his wholesale purchases, but 
he made a point of this one and she yielded. Prat- 
tle over it lasted for a few minutes, and then Will 
asked, — 

“Aren’t you tired, Miss Desborough?” 

“Only delightfully so,” she said, and with a sud- 
den, frank impulse she exclaimed : “ Oh, I have been 
so happy here, Mr. Hedges! It is as you said it 
would be ; I feel of more use than I have ever been 
in my life. What you said to me that night at the 
Stan woods’ has helped me so much that I want you 
to know it.” 

She wondered whether she knew him well enough 
to say just what she wanted to. Then she did what 
everybody else did, — she trusted him and went on : 
“You all seemed so strong and powerful to help 
people, — you, and the Stan woods and Mortons, 
and your friends ! It seemed as if you were giants, 
and I was an insignificant little pigmy. I believe 
I confessed as much, do you remember? ” 

Will remembered excellently. “You were so 
busy measuring other people’s power,” he said, 
“that you forgot to put your own into the balance.” 

She answered earnestly, — 


166 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


“I did not know I had any to put there, hut you 
said nobody had any right to think little of his or 
her own power; that every mite of it counted, and 
that I could not be really true and earnest in wish- 
ing for it without discovering some. You said I 
could make opportunities to use it.” 

The things which they had said, and what they 
thought, or had thought, were of vast importance to 
them both. Will’s eyes gave her a quick look of 
pleasure while he exclaimed, “I did not know I said 
anything worth remembering so long; it was you 
who inspired the thought, though, Miss Desborough. 
I could not get such a fine one up, all by myself, 
you know ! ” 

He made her laugh, and she toyed with her 
bitter-sweet. She was saying, “Whether you know 
it or not, you gave me courage to make my first 
real opportunity,” when the children came running 
back, very much excited. “Quick! Quick! Let 
us in!” cried Betty, while Dick backed unceremo- 
niously into Will, saying: “Boost me up! Boost 
me up ! ” 

They were in their old places on the counter in a 
moment. 

“There he is! See him! ” said Betty, making an 
opening through the hemlock branches. “Put thy 
head right here, Dick, and he can’t see thee.” 

Dick, on hands and knees, peered through the 
opening. Betty said vehemently, — 

“He’s the ugliest, hatefullest, wickedest person 


“Hold on, Betty!” said Will, “Let me see the 


FACE TO FACE WITH THE QUESTION. 167 


monster, too. When a young lady talks like that, 
I feel called upon to protect her ; point out the vil- 
lain! ” 

Betty, unabashed, pointed her finger at a rather 
elegant-looking gentleman. Will had never seen 
him before. 

“Well,” said Will, “I expected to see an ogre, 
and he looks like only an ordinary man. What has 
he done ? ” 

Dick doubled up his fists at the stranger’s distant 
back, wagged his head wisely and said, with as dark 
a scowl as his apple-face was capable of: “Thee don’t 
know about him, Cousin Will! He came to our 
house one day and tried to steal Delphina, and he 
said we had two more slaves of his ! And he swears , 
— he said ‘ nigger ! ’ ” 

“Wait, Dick,” Will said, and went around inside 
of the bower to the children. He questioned them, 
to make sure they were not mistaken in the identity 
of Mr. Suydan. Then he went to Grace, and in a 
low tone asked, “Can you do a brave thing now , 
for a hunted slave? ” 

He was leaning his elbows on the counter and 
looking intently into her face. Her eyes quickened, 
and she said, “I think so — try me ! ” 

“That man is a slave -hunter,” Will said. “He 
is the master of Havilah, the Stan woods’ servant. 
W e must save her, you and I, if we can ; she is here, 
somewhere.” 

“In the anteroom,” said Grace, hurrying out of 
her enclosure. She would have made a rush for the 
anteroom, but Will checked her. 


168 


RACHEL STANWOOD. 


“Quietly, or we shall fail,” he said. “Don’t he 
frightened, but walk slowly, so as not to be observed. 
Take my arm, please.” 

The sales were over and the evening was to close 
with speeches and singing, to hear which an audience 
was beginning to assemble. Benches were being 
placed across the centre of the hall and people were 
taking their seats upon them. 

In the anteroom were a number of people busy in 
preparations for closing up the fair. Some were 
putting carefully into boxes unsold articles to be kept 
for next year’s fair; some were doing up into parcels 
the cooking utensils and things which had been 
loaned for the occasion; in one corner the china 
which had been hired for the refreshment tables was 
being disposed of. Martha Quimby was washing it, 
Havilah was wiping and piling it into convenient 
heaps for Jo Norris, who was packing it. They had 
been at work some time and were nearly through. 
Havilah ’s face wore the same sad expression which 
Grace had observed upon it on the evening of the 
Stan woods’ party, when she had first seen her. 

All the gayety and cheer of the day had made no 
impression upon her. She had worked industri- 
ously and efficiently at everything she had been 
asked to do, but without pleasure. Intelligent and 
interested, she was eager to be as helpful as it was 
in her power to be, but the occasion, with all its 
activity and brightness, could not make her forget 
for an instant the one fact which oppressed her. She 
and her child were slaves ! Their master might, any 
moment, reclaim and carry them South again. For 


FACE TO FACE WITH THE QUESTION. 169 

herself alone, the thought was terrible, but for Diana 
it was insupportable. She knew her master, and she 
believed that he would never abandon his purpose. 
He would follow them up until he captured them. 
Her vivid imagination kept horrors of the worst kind 
constantly before her, and they were accompanied 
by a resolution which grew more and more firmly 
fixed. But it was a resolution which she imparted 
to nobody. 

The friends who protected her knew that she could 
not be at peace anywhere but in Canada, and their 
plan was to get her there, with her child, as soon as 
they could. But they had to wait for an opportun- 
ity. The owners of runaway slaves were vigilant in 
their watch of Northern railroad stations. 

Instead of feeling that Diana was safer separated 
from her, the child was no sooner removed to the 
Mortons’ than Havilah became possessed with the 
fear that she would be sought there and carried off 
alone. The chance of that was more horrible to her 
than anything else. To escape, herself, but to have 
her child captured, would be far worse than for both 
to return to slavery together. She had, intensely, 
the mother’s longing to suffer whatever her child 
must suffer. 

Whatever she did, and wherever she went, Havi- 
lah could not escape from these visions, and they 
imprinted upon her face an expression of constant 
suspense and sorrow. 

William Hedges and Grace Desborough stood in 
the doorway with a part of the same suspense re- 
peated upon their faces. Will knew that it would 


170 


RACHEL STANWOOD. 


be dangerous to have it known that Havilah was in 
peril. The discovery would make her at once the 
centre of such solicitude as might be the very means 
of betraying her to her master. Will was at first 
afraid that even Grace’s desire to help the girl might 
point her out. He could see that Grace was very 
much excited. 

“How shall we get her without attracting atten- 
tion? We must think,” he said. 

“Oh, there is no time to think! ” whispered Grace, 
trembling very much. “If he should follow us! ” 

“Don’t be frightened,” said Will again, standing 
with his back toward Havilah, his eyes following 
her master’s movements. “I am watching him, and 
he is going the other way. If you could manage 
to prepare her gently and get her things on her, I 
would take her somewhere. Only — stop ! If she 
has been tracked and the doors are being watched, 
she ’ll be recognized.” 

“ W ait ! Listen ! ” whispered Grace, grasping his 
arm and standing close. He bent his head to her 
without taking his eyes from the Southerner. “ I 
think I know how,” Grace whispered, her teeth al- 
most chattering with fear : “ my wraps are here ; I 
will put them on Havilah, and you can take her 
downstairs to my carriage. It ought to be there. 
People will think you are taking me.” 

“Oh, how clever you are! ” Will said. “Yes — 
we ’ll try that; it will succeed if Havilah can take 
it quietly.” 

It was just as well that Martha Quimby was so 
busy, for, otherwise, she might have been alarmed 


FACE TO FACE WITH THE QUESTION. 171 

at Grace’s pallor when the latter asked Havilah to 
come away and help her for a minute. And it was 
fortunate that the large room was filling’ with people 
arriving for the speeches and singing, and that 
Horace Desborough was so interested in helping 
Rachel to dismantle her table that he stepped aside 
to let William Hedges and Havilah pass by him 
without looking at them. 

Susy Morton noticed them, but she had not time 
to be nice in her observation or she would never 
have mistaken Havilah’s tall figure for Grace’s. 
Without a second glance she said to Hetty Bixby, — 

“ What a shame for Grace Desborough to have to 
go before the speaking ; she will lose the best part 
of the fair.” 

When Rachel and Susy began the dismantling 
process at their table, Horace Desborough presented 
himself once more, with, the offer of his services, and 
Rachel accepted them with reluctance. She could 
not pass him along to the other girls, as she had 
passed Burton Riverston. He was not a person to 
be sent where he did not incline to go. Yet here, 
where he wanted to help, his services were not ac- 
ceptable. Rachel felt that they were tendered to 
herself, personally, and that was not agreeable. 
She felt under the ban of Desborough disapproval, 
and her pride rebelled against that too. She had 
been uncomfortable ever since she had learned that 
Grace had come to the fair under protest, and she 
wanted the Desborough family forced to understand 
that she was not, in any way, responsible for Grace’s 
action. So she was cold to Horace and tried her 


172 


RACHEL STANWOOD. 


best to make him feel that his help was unnecessary. 
He had to put himself on the alert and find occupa- 
tion, for she would ask nothing of him. The posi- 
tion was new to him and his unfitness for it was 
apparent. At last he complained. Susy had gone 
to her mother’s assistance and Horace seized the op- 
portunity. 

“ I feel very useless, Miss Stanwood, and I would 
really like to be of service,” he said, with a sort of 
appeal for her to believe him. 

“There is nothing more to do now, Mr. Desbor- 
ough,” she said, sitting down. “We have only our 
closing ceremonies — the speaking and singing — to 
wait for, and they will not interest you. Grace is 
probably ready by this time, and you must not feel 
obliged to stay. If you took her away, now, you 
would avoid the confusion at the last.” 

“I don’t want to avoid anything,” said Horace, 
nettled. “I have been trying to help you, but you 
seem determined to spare me ; you take everything 
upon yourself without giving me fair play.” 

“I am used to it, and you” — 

“‘And I ’ what? ” asked Horace. “Do you think 
me so very inefficient? ” 

“Not at all,” she said. “I believe the contrary. 
Only ” — 

“‘Only ’ what? Why cannot I have my rightful 
share of both the labor and its reward?” he asked. 

“The reward you cannot have,” Rachel answered 
positively. “That being denied you, it would be un- 
fair to give you a full measure of labor. Indeed, I 
am not sure that it has been right to give you any.” 


FACE TO FACE WITH THE QUESTION. 173 

“I don’t know how you make that out,” Horace 
answered, sitting down on the bench with her. “I 
claimed the labor, and why can’t I have even the 
little measure of your approbation which I have 
earned ? ” 

The red came into Rachel’s cheeks as she said, 
with a tinge of haughtiness, “My approbation has 
nothing to do with the reward I mean. That would 
be poorly worth laboring for. I was not thinking 
of anything in the least personal; I ” — 

She paused, wishing that she had not said any- 
thing which called for explanation. But he waited, 
and she added, “ I meant the reward of helping the 
cause of abolition. We all have that so at heart 
that to work for it is, to us, a privilege. You don’t 
sympathize with it and so you lose” — It did not 
interest her to make him understand, and she gave 
up the effort in an impatient exclamation, “ Oh, you 
can’t know what you lose ! ” 

“I know better than you think I do, Miss Stan- 
wood,” he said, earnestly, and a little sadly. He 
was thinking that, at every step, he lost ground 
with her. Whatever he tried to talk about with her 
seemed to widen the gulf between them. She al- 
ways came back to her everlasting hobby and seemed 
to wish to keep only their differences before him. 

She misunderstood, and wondered if she had done 
him injustice. Perhaps, after all, he sympathized 
with his sister more than he had avowed. She 
turned her face suddenly to him, as if she wanted 
him to go on. He repeated, “I know better than 
you think I do.” He was not thinking of the anti- 


174 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


slavery cause, and she was not thinking of anything 
else. 

Her eyes lighted pleasantly and she asked eagerly, 
“Then you do care more than I suppose? You 
care more for the liberty of the slaves and you sym- 
pathize less with their masters than you openly con- 
fess?” 

Now was his chance ; he might easily call up one 
of her rare smiles and he longed to do it. But 
something about her made him unwilling to be any- 
thing but absolutely honest. 

“I care in my own way,” he said, “but it is not 
yours. I hate slavery, but I think the abolitionists 
are ” — 

“Well?” she asked. “What are we? You need 
not mind saying what you think ; we are used to be- 
ing called everything that is bad.” 

“You make it hard for me,” he said, as her ex- 
pression changed to one of disappointment. “I 
mean nothing bad. ‘Fanatics ’ was the word in my 
mind, and I mean by it only that your enthusiasm 
carries you too far, — much farther than I can fol- 
low, that is all.” 

“Where does it carry us? What are you afraid 
of?” she asked. 

He answered* earnestly, “If you had your way, 
and slavery were suddenly abolished, it would carry 
you to anarchy and a state of utter disorganization. 
It would throw the people whom you wish to help 
into a hopeless condition of degradation and mis- 
ery.” 

“What is their condition now? Do you know 


FACE TO FACE WITH THE QUESTION. 175 

enough about it to contrast it with what it might 
be?” she asked coldly. 

“I have not made a study of the subject,” he 
said, “but I think I can see, by the very nature of 
things, that the results of emancipation would be 
dreadful. And allow me to put a question also. 
Do not your leaders, do you not all gather your 
impressions of the condition of the slaves from ex- 
ceptional cases? Are not the masses of them prac- 
tically better off than they would be if they were 
free?” 

“And happier? and safer?” she asked with sar- 
casm. “And why not go farther and ask if their 
position is not even enviable, with no responsibility, 
no care, no duty, except that of submission?” 

“No, I don’t think that,” said Horace warmly. 
“There is no argument to prove slavery anything 
but a curse. I hate the system, and do not in any 
way defend it, but I cannot see that any good is ac- 
complished by the course pursued by abolitionists. 
It is aggressive and disorganizing, and the result is 
that it creates antagonism. It makes people angry 
and keeps their anger hot.” 

“Whom does it antagonize? Whom does it 
make angry?” asked Rachel. “Anybody excepting 
those who believe in slavery? And those who don’t 
believe in it, but who would not have it disturbed? 
Oh!” she cried, her face suddenly aflame, “ They 
are worse than the slaveholders ! The slaveholders 
at least believe in their institution, but what can be 
said for people who see a wrong, — a wrong so ter- 
rible as to be a curse upon the country, — you called 


176 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


it that, — go on, and on, and who will not even 
raise their voices to speak what they believe lest 
they ‘antagonize,’ or ‘make angry ’ the wrong-doers? 
They will cry out against other wrongs, but they 
will fold their hands and look at this, the greatest 
one of all, and say nothing lest they might disturb 
the peace! Peace! It is a wicked, cruel peace, 
and I wish the abolitionists were strong enough to 
make a whole world of people angry while it lasts! ” 

She was glorious in her self -forgetting scorn. 
Horace had never seen a creature so beautiful. He 
looked at her and did not speak for a moment. 
Then she came to herself. “I beg your pardon,” 
she said. “I did not mean to get so earnest. I 
don’t believe, Mr. Desborough, that you are one of 
those hopelessly wicked people. You have only, as 
you said, not ‘made a study of the subject’ yet.” 

“If you would be my teacher, Miss Stan wood, I 
would engage to make a serious study of it,” he said 
impulsively. 

“No,” she said persistently, “I decline to think 
you require a teacher; I believe you have only to 
think about the subject. You are a lawyer and 
your study is justice. But I do want to say one 
thing, if you will let me.” 

He begged her to make it as long as possible. 
He could have listened to her for hours. 

“It is not much,” she said, “but I want you to 
know — you, and your father and mother — that I 
have never used any influence to persuade Grace to 
join us.” 

“Surely you need not tell me that, Miss Stan- 


FACE TO FACE WITH THE QUESTION. 177 

wood,” he exclaimed. “I am certain,” — he had 
not been, but he was now, — “that you have not 
made the slightest effort to influence my sister’s 
opinions.” 

“Thank you!” she said. Then, the red coming 
all over her face, “I have never given her any anti- 
slavery eloquence. You made me forget myself.” 

He was glad that he had had the power and 
wished that he could use it often, but he never 
meant to be the object of her scorn again. 

“We were all surprised when Grace told us her 
views,” he said. “We did not know that she had 
done such a quantity of independent thinking.” 

“ Perhaps it did not require so vast an amount as 
you imagine,” said Rachel. “The anti-slavery doc- 
trine is very simple, you know. I think” — She 
looked into his face, and stopped. 

“What do you think? ” he asked. 

“Perhaps I ought not to say it,” she said. 

“Oh, yes, do! ” he said, with a frank smile which 
lighted up his face delightfully, and shot into her 
mind a new liking for him. 

He went on. “I like to hear what you think. I 
won’t promise to agree with you, but I am intensely 
interested.” 

“That is just it ! ” she exclaimed laughing. “The 
despised abolitionists are interesting ! There are 
thousands of people who would belong to us, if they 
only dared to listen. You are braver than the rest, 
and you do dare, so, beware ! You ’ll be where 
Gracie is some day. Oh, yes, you will! ” she cried, 
answering his protesting little gesture. “You have 


178 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


decided not to agree with, me, but you want me to 
talk about it, and, when you find yourself face to 
face with the question, you ’ll be on my side of it, 
— you can’t help yourself! ” 

He looked at her and said in his heart that he 
would like to be on her side of every question, his 
life long. 

Suddenly, while he was still looking at her, her 
eyes flashed and she sprang to her feet. 

“What is the matter?” asked Horace, standing 
beside her. Two gentlemen approached the table, 
and one, with elaborate courtesy, said, “Pray be 
seated again, Miss Stan wood. I did not mean to 
alarm you.” 

“What is it?” Horace asked again. She was 
very pale, and seemed to be making a violent effort 
to control some strong emotion. She half turned to 
him and said, “Nothing is the matter with me, Mr. 
Desborough. Ask that man what he wants.” 

Horace stepped in front of her, as Mr. Suydan 
answered before the question was repeated. 

“ Miss Stanwood knows what I want, and I should 
judge by her manner that she knew where I could 
find it. Miss Stanwood, this time Havilah Moore 
cannot escape me. A person whom I have employed 
to aid me in recovering my property, has seen her 
in this building. As the exits are watched, she 
cannot leave it without being arrested. It will be 
more comfortable for you to give her up quietly.” 

“Address yourself to me, sir, if you please,” said 
Horace, “Miss Stanwood declines to converse with 
you.” 


FACE TO FACE WITH THE QUESTION. 179 

Suydan’s manner was insolent. 

“I don’t care whom I address, Jbut I will have the 
woman I am after,” he said angrily. 

“Ask Will to come here,” Rachel said to Susy 
Morton, who had returned just as Mr. Suydan and 
his companion presented themselves. 

“Where is Mr. Hedges? ” Horace asked Susy. 

“He has gone to take your sister home. I saw 
them leave the hall together long ago,” said 'Susy, 
her voice shaking. She was so frightened that she 
did not know she was steadying herself by clutching 
Mr. Desborough’s arm. “What shall we do?” she 
whispered, looking up piteously at him. “Those 
men are ” — 

“Never mind who they are, or what they want,” 
exclaimed Rachel peremptorily; and, turning to 
Horace, she said in a low tone, — 

“Go and send my father here. If you cannot 
find him, send — oh, send almost any gentleman 
from over there by the platform. But stay away 
yourself; I entreat you not to return! Go! Go! ” 

She was too earnest for him not to obey, and he 
went immediately, hurt, angry, and puzzled at her 
request to him not to return. He did not know 
that the speech he had once made about the justice 
of returning fugitive slaves to their masters had 
flashed into her mind and filled her with a sudden 
fear lest he might betray Havilah. 

But this was not a moment to think of hurts ; Ra- 
chel needed somebody, and he must send her father 
to her at once. He would think of the hurt after- 
ward. 


180 


RACHEL STANWOOD. 


The people had settled into an audience at the 
farther end of the hall, where the gentlemen who 
were to speak, and the Hutchinsons, had gathered 
upon the platform. Horace saw that Mr. Stanwood 
was acting as chairman and was conversing busily 
with a gentleman who was taking notes. To call 
him away would attract observation, and make peo- 
ple curious; he must get somebody else. Whom 
should he ask? He hurried here and there, but 
recognized no one. He was afraid of addressing 
the wrong person. How did he know that the 
slaveholder had not more friends in the audience? 
On one of the benches he saw two common -looking 
men who were making game of something disagree- 
ably. And not far from them was a group of men 
from the street, who looked as if they were there 
for the purpose of creating disturbance. Horace 
Desborough had done more than forget his speech 
about the rights of slaveholders; he had forgotten 
everything excepting that here, in this room, was 
one of them claiming a woman as his property, 
as he would claim an animal. And the woman 
was hiding somewhere within reach. Instinctively 
Horace was bending every energy to protect her. 
Never mind his theories, — they were not practica- 
ble now. He would help Rachel save the woman 
first, and perhaps be consistent afterwards. He 
had seen Havilah, and to think of this common- 
looking man laying his hands upon her and claiming 
her as he would claim a beast, was intolerable. 
Every instant seemed an hour. Miss Stanwood had 
told him to send some one to her, and there was no 


FACE TO FACE WITH THE QUESTION. 181 

one to send. In spite of her entreaty to him to stay 
away, he started to go back to her. Then he won- 
dered if he could find Havilah first and help in her 
concealment. Could he save her himself? How? 
Was there a way to the roof? He went to the door 
to see who might be there, — that man had said the 
exits were watched ; did he mean only those on the 
street? He came against Will Hedges just enter- 
ing. “Thank God!” he whispered, seizing upon 
him. Will had Grace’s wrap hanging over his 
arm, but Horace did not notice it or think of Grace. 
He told Will hurriedly what had happened and 
asked, “What is to be done? How can we save 
her?” 

Will’s face looked triumphant, as if he had won 
a victory. His eyes shone as he said, “The girl is 
safe. Your sister saved her! ” 

“ Grace f ” asked Horace, not knowing if he heard 
aright. “Where is she? ” 

“Your sister saved her! ” repeated Will, as if the 
fact gave him all the joy he could take in. 

Across the hall Suydan and his companion were 
contending with Rachel for admission into the ante- 
room, at the door of which she and Susy stood 
guard. The buzz of conversation in the audience 
was loud enough to prevent them from attracting 
attention. 

Both girls were in a state of alarm, Rachel 
white to the lips. As Desborough reached the spot, 
she was saying to Mr. Suydan, “We have no prop- 
erty of yours concealed anywhere, sir!” Then her 
eyes lighted upon Horace, and she exclaimed, “Oh, 


182 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


why are you back again? Couldn’t you send any- 
body to help me?” and then, changing her tone, 
she cried out, “Oh, Will! Will! ” 

“What do you want, gentlemen?” asked Will, 
coming up to them. 

At the opposite end of the room, Wendell Phil- 
lips, stepping forward on the platform, was greeted 
with loud and continued applause. Under cover of 
the noise, Suydan raised his voice and said angrily, 
pointing to the door behind Rachel, “We want to 
go into that room! My slave, Havilah Moore, is 
there ! ” 

Rachel lost herself. Impulsively, believing that 
Havilah was in the anteroom, and that the inevita- 
ble moment for her capture had come, she cried out, 
“Havilah Moore is the slave of no man, — she is a 
free woman ! a free woman ! ” 

“Open the door, Desborough,” said Will. “We 
will all go into the room, if you please.” He mo- 
tioned to Rachel and Susy to precede them. 

He was the last one to enter the anteroom and 
closed the door. Rachel gave a moan. Horace 
tried to speak to her, but she turned away from him. 

It seemed, at first, as if the room was deserted, 
but in a moment they saw a figure in a long, dark 
cloak, crouching on a bench in the corner, among a 
pile of shawls and wraps. Suydan made a quick 
step toward it, but Will Hedges intercepted him, 
saying in a commanding tone, “Not a step nearer, 
sir! You mistake!” Then, bending over the fig- 
ure, he whispered something, and the golden head of 
Grace lifted itself out of the wraps. 


FACE TO FACE WITH THE QUESTION. 183 

“You may search where you please, gentlemen,” 
said Will, smiling like a conqueror, “but you must 
not lay a finger upon the wrong person! ” 

There was an outcry of joy from Rachel and 
Susy, who took possession of Grace. 

Suydan began to talk loud and to look about the 
room for other exits or places of concealment. His 
companion, who had maintained an attitude of silent 
scrutiny throughout, urged him now to leave the 

building to the “d d nigger - abolition man- 

stealers.” 

Horace Desborough confronted them both. 
“Words like those are dangerous for you gentle- 
men,” he said. “Show a warrant for your search, 
or give up looking for your property here.” 

There was an angry dispute, which ended with the 
discovery that Suydan, on this occasion, had come 
without legal authority for the arrest of Havilah, 
and that his companion was not a constable. 

“Then the sooner you leave the better,” said 
Horace, at last, with angry dignity. “You can ex- 
press your opinions of abolitionists outside. They 
are having a meeting in the next room, and you 
make yourselves liable to arrest for disturbing the 
peace.” 

“Don’t urge the gentlemen to go yet awhile,” 
said a mild voice, and Mr. Abner Cumley advanced, 
rubbing his hands and with a beaming countenance. 
He had perceived, from the platform, that a dis- 
turbance of some kind was going on, and had come 
unobserved into the little room to inquire into it. 

“ It is a pity to deny anybody an opportunity to 


184 


RACHEL STANWOOD. 


hear Wendell Phillips,” Mr. Cumley continued. 
“There are vacant seats at the hack of the hall, gen- 
tlemen,” with an inviting motion of the hand toward 
the large room. “If you wish to occupy two of 
them, you will hear the close of a most eloquent ad- 
dress by Mr. Phillips, and, after one or two others, 
William Lloyd Garrison will speak.” 

“Grace! You saved her!” Horace cried, bend- 
ing over his sister, after the men had gone. His 
tone was one of heartfelt, honest joy. He did not 
know that Rachel heard him, or that, of all the 
smiles he had ever seen upon her face, the most 
beautiful one was there now, for him. It was a 
time of feeling which was too intense for them to 
recall speeches in conversations that were past. 
But Rachel was right, — Horace Desborough had 
been “face to face with the question,” and he ivcis 
upon her side of it ! 


CHAPTER IX. 


A SLEIGH HIDE. 

“And now Grace will settle down again, I hope,” 
Mrs. Desborough said to her husband and son. 
“ She has had her way, and I hope and pray she has 
had enough to satisfy her and cure her ridiculous 
anti-slavery fever. Horace, you must take her to 
the opera and other places. If you accept a few 
invitations and go with her, she ’ll come back to 
herself. I am glad the Gray thorns’ ball is coming 
soon.” 

And because Horace made no reply, Mrs. Des- 
borough thought he sympathized with her. 

She thought it was the reaction from excitement 
and overwork which made Grace pale and more 
quiet than ever. She was delighted to see Horace 
apparently act upon her suggestion and ask his sis- 
ter, one afternoon in January, to take a sleigh ride 
with him. Grace accepted his invitation eagerly, 
and Mrs. Desborough, from the window, watched 
them start off, with satisfaction in her soul, think- 
ing how excellent her advice had been, and how ad- 
mirably it was going to work. She turned away 
from the window, thinking, “ The ride will do Grace 
more good than anything. It will take her mind 
away from that fair and everything connected with 


186 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


it. Horace has so much tact; he will interest her 
in fresh things.” 

Horace and Grace had given but a meagre account 
of their experiences at the fair. The story of 
Havilah’s escape came out piecemeal, and the impor- 
tant part Grace had played in it did not make much 
of a showing. The woman had worn Grace’s wrap 
as a disguise, and it was just like Grace to lend it 
for such a purpose. It would be just like her, too, 
never to mind the association afterwards. But it 
was of no consequence, for she was to have a new 
and far handsomer wrap to wear to the Graythorn 
ball. As for Horace, he seemed even less inclined 
than his sister was to talk. But he appeared very 
much absorbed in his business, leaving home earlier 
and returning later. His mind was occupied with 
more important things, and since he did not want to 
talk about the fair and the set of people connected 
with it, why should he be bored? 

These were Mrs. Desborough’s thoughts, and they 
carried her away from a real understanding of her 
two children as rapidly as the sleigh, on that after- 
noon, carried the two children over the crisp snow. 

It was a rare day for a sleigh ride. The sky was 
clear, the snow hard, and the atmosphere, with no 
wind to speak of, just too cool for thaw. 

Over all the unsightly rubbish of dumping grounds, 
building lots, cattle-pens and shanties, the snow lay 
in its new purity and its picturesque, fantastic med- 
ley of blue shadows. There was only a beautiful 
world visible that day ; the wickedness and deform- 
ities of New York seemed covered up. A thaw 


A SLEIGH RIDE. 


187 


would come on the morrow, but it would take twen- 
ty-four hours for it to lift the cover and reveal the 
city’s skeletons again. 

It need not have stayed away on Horace’s or 
Grace’s account, for they lost most of the charm of 
this visitation of the snow. They were both so ab- 
sorbed in thought that they did not see it, and for 
some time neither of them spoke. Then Horace, 
slowing his horse, looked about him and said: “I 
did not mean to bring you to Harlem, Grace. It 
is not half so pretty as the west side, up Broadway.” 

“Never mind; I did not know we had come this 
way. I really don’t care where we go,” said Grace. 

“That remark may be either insulting, or com- 
plimentary; which way shall I interpret it?” said 
Horace, looking down upon her with a smile. 

Grace smiled back at him, like a child awakening, 
and said: “I don’t think it meant anything at all; 
it is hard to think to-day.” 

“Or hard not to — which?” asked her brother. 
“I can’t get my mind away from all that fair busi- 
ness ; can you yours ? ” 

Grace wakened more and said: “I did n’t think 
you were troubled. I thought your business was 
crowding that out of your memory. Mamma thinks 
Graythorn & Benderly are overworking you.” 

“On the contrary, I have been shirking. They 
have a right to complain of me,” said Horace, turn- 
ing his horse west, through 125th Street. “I ’ve 
been taking long walks and doing my own thinking, 
not theirs. I can’t get- my mind back on to their 
business, Grace; it sticks at the fair.” 


188 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


Grace repeated, “I thought it was only my mind, 
not yours, which was doing that, Horace. My 
mind is so little that there is n’t room in it for more 
than one thing at a time.” She was trying to be 
funny, but while her tone was bright enough, her 
meaning was dreary. 

“If that one thing is the fair, your mind must be 
a vast one, Gracie,” said Horace. 

She liked him to call her “Gracie.” She always 
felt, when he did so, on closer terms with him ; her 
awe of him was less and she was more ready to be 
confidential. 

She laughed, saying idly, “What an idea! ” 

“It is not such an easy matter to measure any- 
body’s mind,” he went on. “That last night I came 
suddenly upon a corner of my own which I never 
before knew existed.” 

“Oh, Horace! ” cried Grace, her eyes brightening 
with admiration of him. “You mean when Havi- 
lah escaped. You were glad of that; you couldn't 
have seen that man take her back to slavery ! ” 

“Grace,” said Horace, with sudden, bold confi- 
dence, “ I had to fight myself to keep my hands from 
her master’s throat ! ” 

“ And I was afraid of you ! ” cried Grace. “ Think 
how dreadful I was ! I am going to confess every- 
thing now. When Mr. Hedges and I were trying 
to save Havilah, we had to pass by you. I could 
have touched you, but I hurried Mr. Hedges along. 
You know how you — you used to say that slave- 
holders had a right to their property, and all that ; 
and I was afraid you would not approve of what we 


A SLEIGH BIDE. 


189 


were doing. It was awfully unjust not to trust you, 
Horace ! You showed me afterwards how noble you 
are! You ’d have saved Havilah yourself, in a 
better ” — 

“No, I would not — nobody could. Don’t talk 
nonsense!” exclaimed Horace. “It was merciful 
that the chance fell to you, little girl. I could not 
have been so quiet about it. Hedges is used to it, 
and knew how to keep cool ; did you ever see such 
a fellow? You ought to have seen his face when 
he told me you had saved the girl ! He ’s got more 
nerve than anybody I ever saw. When he wants 
himself, he ’ll be there, Gracie ! But I ! I ’ll con- 
fess that the moment I recognized the fact that the 
woman was in danger, there seemed nothing else to 
do but to save her at any cost. I lost sight of every- 
thing else and I believe I ’d have pitched into that 
man, then and there, if I had seen him lay a hand 
upon her. It was impulse, instinct, I don’t know 
what, but I know I could not have controlled my- 
self. Grace, I would give more to have that act of 
yours down on my record, than to have any honor 
the world can give me! ” 

“But it was n’t noble in me, either, Horace,” 
Grace insisted. “It was only what you said just 
now, instinct, impulse. There was n’t any time to 
think and plan. It seemed as if the girl’s life was 
in my hands, and I had to save her ! May be it ’s 
ridiculous, but I think I ’d have done it, even if 
Mr. Hedges had not been there. Afterwards it all 
seemed like a dream, and I didn’t half understand 
what the people were saying to me. And now, 


190 RACHEL STANWOOD. 

since it all happened, I don’t feel like the same per- 
son. I am so glad of the chance to talk it all over. 
What shall I do? I don’t feel as if I could go 
back and live the same kind of life I did before. 
The very thought of that Graythorn ball is tiresome 
to me. But mamma thinks you want me to go. 
Do you?” 

“Poor little girl! Her troubles are much too 
big for her limited little mind; aren’t they?” said 
her brother, reaching his left arm over the back of 
the seat and putting on a comical expression of pity 
as he looked down at her. Then he straightened 
himself and said, — 

“Mamma is right, Gracie; I do rather want you 
to go. I know how you feel, because ” — 

Horace stopped, with a doubt as to the wisdom 
of being confidential on so many points. It was 
rather the family custom to spare Grace perplexing 
thoughts. 

She was looking up at him, wondering if her 
mother was right in thinking that he admired Miss 
Graythorn so very much. Horace began again and 
yielded to his impulse to take her further into his 
confidence. 

“It is important for a good many reasons, Gracie 
dear,” he said. “You know that my prospects de- 
pend largely upon my pleasing the firm. I shall 
disappoint papa dreadfully if I fail to do that, and 
I ’m afraid I ’m not likely to please either them or 
him just now. At least I — After that experi- 
ence at the fair, I feel” — He made a bold dash 
finally, and said, “The fact is, I am in a tighter 


A SLEIGH RIDE. 


191 


box than you are. The firm are very decidedly pro- 
slavery in their principles. They are even bitterly 
so. The case they first put me on, a year ago, in- 
volved the defense of those very principles, — the 
right of a southern planter to recover his property 
in slaves. A little point of law which I happened 
to rake up just at the right time, established the 
firm’s confidence in me and I took what papa called 
a great step forward in my profession. And now, 
recently, another case somewhat similar to that one 
has come up and they have given me almost sole 
charge of it. But my work on it has come to a 
standstill. Since this fair business, my interest, 
sympathy, conviction, — all have been reversed. I 
want the firm to be — I want them to be defeated, 
that’s the long and short of it, my dear! Don’t 
misunderstand me, Grace; I ’m not a ranting, roar- 
ing abolitionist yet. But I ’m not the fellow I 
was, or the fellow Messrs. Graythorn and Benderly 
and my father think I am. I ’d give a good deal 
to know just what and where I am! I feel like 
going on an exploring expedition to discover my- 
self, Gracie ! ” 

He smiled down upon her as if it was pleasant to 
have confided in her. 

“Oh, how hard!” she said sadly. “How will 
you ever straighten it out? I see it all. You have 
pledged yourself to the case, and now you would 
like to give it up and let reputation and everything 
go to the winds! I don’t see how it is to help, but 
I ’ll go to the ball and do anything else you want 
me to, dear, — indeed I will.” The thought came 


192 


BACH EL STAN WOOD. 


liow very difficult his course would be, if he did 
care for Miss Graythorn, and, beside his perplexi- 
ties, her own seemed almost trivial. 

“Thank you!” he said. “I believe it will be 
better for us to go.” 

They rode in silence for a little while. Then 
Horace said, “I am glad we have had this talk, 
Gracie; without it you could hardly have pieced to- 
gether my old arguments and my joy over that slave 
woman’s escape, could you? ” 

“No,” she said, absently, and, after a minute, 
added, “but there is something else, Horace.” 

“Is there?” he asked. “Out with it, then! 
Let’s have a clean breast of it.” He slowed the 
horse into a walk, and put his hand over her shoul- 
ders again, while he said, “You and I have come to 
a turning-point in life’s journey, I ’m thinking, and 
it looks as if we were going to need each other’s 
help now and then. We mustn’t spoil to-day with 
any reserves, my dear; what is the ‘something 
else’?” 

Grace innocently startled him with her answer. 
She looked up anxiously and said, “Rachel! ” 

His face flushed crimson, but he turned away too 
quickly for her to see. “What about her?” he 
asked. 

“Do you still think I ought to be less intimate 
with her?” she asked, and then protested, “I can't 
do that, Horace; I love her too dearly and she 
is ” — • 

“Forget everything I ever said about her,” he 
interrupted, “and let me begin all over again, so 


A SLEIGH BIDE. 


193 


far as she is concerned. The fact is I have new im- 
pressions, to color — or perhaps exchange for — my 
old ones of Miss Stan wood. I would give you now 
to understand ” — His phrases were getting stilted. 
He broke away from them and exclaimed with his 
most genuine heartiness, “ Consider all my unfavor- 
able opinions revoked, Grace, my dear ! They were 
ghosts of opinions, not real ones, — forget them all, 
and help me to begin again with her and to come in 
for a share of her regard, if you can! ” 

“Oh, I am so glad you feel so, Horace !” Grace 
exclaimed joyfully. “Mamma will be influenced by 
you and will change her opinion too, and perhaps 
things won’t be so hard after all! Then I am going 
on just the same with Rachel and we can all be 
friends together, if you will! ” 

“If she will! ” Horace said in an undertone. 

When they reached home, dinner was waiting and 
Eloise scowled at their late coming. 

“The one perfect day of the season for a sleigh 
ride!” Mr. Desborough remarked, when they were 
seated at the table. “Tell us about it; where did 
you go? ” 

It was as difficult a question as he could have 
asked, but it required no answer, for Mrs. Desbor- 
ough exclaimed, “You look as fresh as the day, — 
both of you! The ride has done you good.” 

Horace, meeting Grace’s eyes across the table, 
said, with a smile, “Yes, it has done us good.” 


CHAPTER X. 


TIBBIE LEARNS ABOUT ORGAN STOPS. 

“Now that’s over; what comes next?” was the 
question at the Stan woods’ after the fair was ended. 

“There will be no peace until Havilah Moore 
and her child are in Canada. We must get them 
aboard the underground railroad as soon as possi- 
ble,” Mr. Stan wood said. 

But there were objections to this. Havilah’s lit- 
tle girl was delicate, and the climate of Canada, it 
was thought, would endanger her life. Mother and 
child were at the Quimbys’ now, and as their house 
was one which had never before harbored fugitives, 
Mrs. Stan wood felt sure they were safe. Suydan 
was not going to abandon his pursuit of them, that 
was clear. He seemed to be spending most of his 
time in the city, and it was supposed that other 
business, as well as the search after his slaves, de- 
tained him there. 

Happy-go-lucky Delphina refused to budge from 
the vicinity of her first protectors. She was con- 
tent at the Mortons’ because of their connection 
and intimacy with the Stanwood family, but farther 
away she could not be persuaded to go. So far 
from being troubled, she could not be even suffi- 
ciently impressed with a sense of danger because of 


TIBBIE LEARNS ABOUT ORGAN STOPS. 195 

her master’s presence in the city. She always stuck 
to the same argument: “Marse Tawm ain’t smaht 
’nough to cotch dis yer niggeh. He done tried it, 
an’ he hed to gib it up. No, Miss Mawton,” she 
insisted, “he’s arter de wrong nig, — ’scuse me, 
Miss Mawton, I mean pusson. Hawyet Wilson 
b’longed to Marse Tawm Lawkwood Suydan, but 
Delphiny K. /Simpson b’longs to de Stanwood an’ 
Mawton famblies, an’ she ’s gwine to wuk fo’ dem 
twell she draps dade ! ” 

This pretense of losing her identity in an assumed 
name tickled Delphina mightily, and she always 
laughed over it as if she had ready for Mr. Suydan 
a trap from which there was no escape. 

Running parallel with that of the fair, a steady 
campaign had been going on at the Stanwoods’, in 
which figured Tibbie MacClare, as an active army 
of difficulties, and Mr. Franz Kreutsohn, Rachel’s 
music teacher, as commander-in-chief. 

Mr. Kreutsohn had been Rachel’s teacher since 
she was twelve years old. At that time Mr. Stan- 
wood, whose standard of education was higher than 
his income, answered the advertisement of a Ger- 
man gentleman who wanted to live with an Ameri- 
can family and exchange lessons in music and Ger- 
man for instruction in English. The result was 
the establishment of Mr. Kreutsohn for a time as 
a member of the family, with Rachel as a pupil, in 
German only — music, although not regarded from 
the severe Quaker standpoint, being ruled out as an 
unnecessary luxury. But Mr. Kreutsohn ’s piano 


196 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


had to come with him, and, being too clumsy to he 
carried upstairs, it was tolerated, rather than weh 
corned, in the parlor. To Kachel it was a joy from 
the beginning. In a very little while Mr. Kreut- 
sohn discovered that she had unusual musical talent, 
and her parents were easily persuaded to allow him 
to cultivate it. By the time his older sister came 
from Germany to keep house for him and he went to 
live with her, Kachel’s music had become a part of 
her life. Another piano was provided for her, and 
her lessons were continued. 

Among the many warm and sincere friends who 
visited the Stan woods, no one was more loved and 
honored than Mr. Kreutsohn. He was a musician 
to the marrow of his bones. He was also a wise 
man, well read, searching, and thorough in every- 
thing which he undertook. 

When he undertook Tibbie MacClare he recog- 
nized her as a difficult subject. From the moment 
when he had heard her sing at the Stan woods’ party 
his heart fairly ached for the privilege of directing 
her musical education. He perceived that evening, 
in the quality and compass of her voice, material 
from which might develop as rare a singer as any 
ever heard. The very passion which caused her 
tantrum after her song ended, would, if she learned 
to control it, give her power without limitation. 

Mr. Kreutsohn was original in everything he did, 
and his method of dealing with Tibbie partook of 
his genius. He began by getting a little acquainted 
with her, drawing her into conversations on various 
subjects and getting at her opinions. In religion 


TIBBIE LEARNS ABOUT ORGAN STOPS. 197 

he found her superstitious and bigoted. The most 
rigid form of Scotch Presbyterianism was the only 
one with which Tibbie was familiar. It was the 
form farthest from the comprehension or sympathy 
of a man like Mr. Kreutsohn, and he dealt with it 
according to his own interpretation. 

After acquainting himself somewhat with the in- 
strument with which he had to deal, he tried it, and 
one day asked Tibbie to sing. She did not know 
that he had heard her before, and expected to aston- 
ish him. She sang her best and then looked for the 
burst of admiration to which she was accustomed. 
The musician wiped the perspiration from his fore- 
head, put his hands on his knees and looked scru- 
tinizingly at Tibbie for a moment. Then he said 
gravely, “My child, the good God has lent to you 
one of his instruments that is the most beautiful and 
wonderful of all. If you can work hard and learn 
to use it in the way God means you to do it, there 
will come one day when you can make that voice 
like a thousand of the best angels the Lord sends 
to tell his messages to his people, and you can 
make much good in the world. But — look to me, 
and believe what I tell to you — there is one oder 
thing.” He was getting earnest and his English 
broke occasionally into dialect. Holding up a 
warning finger to Tibbie, he went on seriously, 
“one oder thing what you can do with that voice, 
— you can make it bring to the people bad, ugly 
messages from the great Tevil ! And all his little 
tevils will help you to carry dose messages ! Yes, 
my child, I tell you it is de truth, — I tell you what 


198 


RACHEL STANWOOD. 


power you make with that woice, it will depend on 
vich of dose angels or dose tevils gets to de inside 
of your soul ! ” 

Tibbie believed in the devil, and listened to Mr. 

, Kreutsohn’s prophecy as one quite possible of fulfill- 
ment. She looked up into his face with anxious 
eyes and, as he ended, she knitted her fingers to- 
gether and asked with a tremulous voice, — 

“And — and which ’ll win the day, do ye 
think? ” 

The wise old German answered her without smil- 
ing, “That is for only you to settle.” He waited a 
moment for her serious impression to have full 
effect, and then said, encouragingly, “But there is 
great help for you. There are these people where 
you have a home, and this best Miss Rachel,” with 
a motion of his hand toward Rachel, who sat by, lis- 
tening with quiet interest. “And if you will have 
it so, there is this old man.” 

He turned toward Rachel, and rising, he held out 
one hand to her and the other to Tibbie, saying, 
“Come, what do you say? We shall fight de big 
and de little tevils, — all togedder ! So ? ” 

And Tibbie went home from her first lesson with- 
out praises of her voice, but with something else to 
think about. 

“If anybody alive can manage Tibbie, I believe 
it is Uncle Franz Kreutsohn,” said Rachel, from 
her side of the evening lamp, “and I hope she won’t 
be influenced at present by any chance discovery of 
the nature of our religious views.” 

Her mother and she were darning the week’s 
stockings at the large round centre table. 


TIBBIE LEARNS ABOUT ORGAN STOPS. 199 

“If lie succeeds in subduing Genius, I, for one, 
will not hereafter speak disparagingly of the devil,” 
said Mr. Stanwood, settling himself in an armchair. 
It was rather difficult for Mr. Stanwood to remem- 
ber the names of all the sinners who came to live 
under his roof, and he was apt to invent cognomens 
of his own. He had called Tibbie “Genius,” from 
her first appearance. While he was adjusting his 
spectacles and deciding what to read in the evening 
paper, he continued : “ If she stays long enough and 
I get an introduction to the Old Gentleman, I ’ll 
take off my hat to him and his family. And, who 
knows? In time, Debby, I may induce him, for thy 
sake, to go to the Convicts’ Refuge, and if I can be 
spry enough, I ’ll nab some of the imps for the 
Juveniles’ House of Correction ! If Genius does n’t 
suddenly blaze and disappear up the chimney in 
a cloud of sulphur, with the whole legion after 
her!” 

Mrs. Stanwood smiled benignly and only said, “ I 
don’t believe the poor child is possessed of more 
than seven, and I think Franz can manage those.” 

So, the contending difficulties in Tibbie’s disposi- 
tion were openly acknowledged at the outset, and it 
was hoped that this united attack would result in 
victory over them. 

For a little while her music lessons went on 
smoothly and Mr. Kreutsohn did not come upon 
any serious snags. The first flash of powder which 
surprised him was the resentment which she showed 
one day, when he pointed out certain defects in her 
singing. She had been so flattered and commended 


200 


BACHEL STANWOOD. 


in the drawing-rooms where she had sung, that, at 
first, she did not understand how her singing could 
be found fault with. She thought that, at least, 
was free from blemish, and she rebelled. Her eyes 
snapped and she cried out a medley of things which 
people had told her, asserting as a climax, “and 
even those Riverstons said I sang ‘Home, Sweet 
Home ’ better than Jenny Lind! ” 

“Ah!” exclaimed Mr. Kreutsohn, with appar- 
ent gratification, “I am glad you tell that to 
me ! That makes me change my mind uZtogedder ! 
Tibbie, my child, you have sung too much for this 
time. I call for you to-morrow morning and we go 
to the church at eight o’clock. It is with my fine, 
great organ you must have a lesson in music to-mor- 
row.” 

Tibbie thought he had recovered his better judg- 
ment and was delighted. She went home sniffing 
the fine, cool air, like a spirited horse, and told Ra- 
chel that Professor Kreutsohn had decided the piano 
was too small an instrument for the accompaniment 
of her voice, and that he found it necessary to give 
her lessons in the church, with the organ. “He 
was quite right about it,” she said, “for his parlor 
was also too small; her voice was stifled in it.” 
Rachel wondered what “Uncle Franz” was up to. 

“Wait a little!” Mr. Kreutsohn said comically, 
the next morning at the Stanwoods’, while Tibbie 
was putting on her things upstairs. “ I have seen 
just one little tevil ; I show him some fireworks 
pretty soon ! ” 

Tibbie was all impatience. Her feet almost 


TIBBIE LEARNS ABOUT ORGAN STOPS. 201 

danced along the pavements. When they reached 
the church she threw off her bonnet and wraps, and 
was not quiet until the sexton was ready at the bel- 
lows and the musician seated at the organ. 

Mr. Kreutsohn looked at her for a moment as she 
stood there, in the gallery, her restless hands on the 
railing, and her face in the full light of the stained- 
glass window. Her glittering eyes and parted lips 
looked daring; her whole face was kindled with 
young confidence. “What shall I sing? ” she asked, 
as if her power were infinite. 

“Poor child!” said the musician to himself. 
Aloud he said, motioning her to a chair beside him, 
“Wait! Sit here and we will try to understand, 
each the other, first. Know a little the noble in- 
strument which is going to help you.” He let his 
fingers wander over the keys, blending harmonies 
for a few moments. Then, as he caught Tibbie’s 
listening ear, he stopped and said, — 

“Tell me again about those friends who told you 
how beautiful you sing; ‘better than the great Miss 
Lind.’ What is the name you give me?” 

“Riverston,” said Tibbie. 

“Oh yes, Riverston,” he said, as if he was glad 
to remember it. “ I am so glad to know about those 
people, because I am sure they always told you only 
the truth. They must have told you a great many 
nice things. And you love them so, that you believe 
all those nice things they tell you. That is right, 
my child. You must believe in those Riverston 
friends. You do right to think they tell only the 
truth, and you think they know more than ” — 


202 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


Tibbie flared. The name of Riverston acted as a 
match to gunpowder and she fired mad little sen- 
tences, like shot, at Mr. Kreutsohn. “No, I don’t! 
They are not my friends ! They promised to give 
me a master to teach me ! They broke their word, 
the word they gave me! They told lies! I will 
never believe any of them any more ! ” 

“Only when they tell you that you sing better 
than the greatest singer in the world? You will be- 
lieve everybody who tells that to you, no matter 
how bad they are ! ” Mr. Kreutsohn exclaimed. 
Tibbie hung her head. 

“And if those people think that, why should 
they get a master for you?” he continued gently. 
“What can you learn if you know already every- 
thing? If you sing only one little song best in all 
the world, then you know more than a master. It 
is I, my child, will ask you to be good and to teach 
me, for much I want to learn.” 

“Oh, no, no! ” exclaimed Tibbie, her mood veer- 
ing into one of passionate humility. “I am not 
good, and I do want to learn. I don’t believe what 
anybody tells me, only you, — only you! ” 

Tibbie’s emotional temperament made it possible 
for her to work up a panic in any direction, among 
the virtues as well as among the vices of her nature. 
The patient, wise musician played upon Tibbie’s 
moods as skillfully as upon his instrument, wrestled 
with her ignorance, and for this time came off best. 
At the close of half an hour he was explaining the 
organ stops and giving her a lesson in self-control 
in a way she could best appreciate. One after an- 


TIBBIE LEARNS ABOUT ORGAN STOPS. 203 


other, he pulled out the stops and described their 
uses to suit his purpose. 

“This is a wavering, trembling one,” he said, 
pulling out the tremolo. “Hear the notes, how 
they shake and tear your nerves in little pieces. 
You could let this stop that has got the palsy say it 
for you when you feel weak and cross. Play with 
that stop when you think about people that you 
can’t be sure of. But you can’t stand it long, and 
that is a good thing, because those thoughts are 
bad. But here is a stop that is more kind. It 
talks to you with a child-voice, like the little Lisbeth 
with the pure heart. Listen much to that stop. 
And to this other one, which is like the voice of some 
person in a trouble; in a trouble that is sad. It 
calls to you for help and your heart tells you that 
you must give it. And here is the strong child- 
voice, like the little brother Dick when he is gay 
and he wants you to feel joy too! And now, — lis- 
ten hard as you can now, Tibbie, my child, — here 
is the great stop, the open diapason ! Hear how it 
is strong, — like a noble orchestra, with the sound 
pure and grand! That is like the voices of those 
friends who stand by you with great hearts; the 
friends who can’t speak but you know what they 
say is truth, and the word they give you is like a 
rock which can’t move.” 

Mr. Kreutsohn was improvising wonderfully, 
while he worked upon the girl’s feelings, and Tibbie 
heard music as she had never heard it before. 

As the hour drew to a close Mr. Kreutsohn said, 
with his way of suddenly beginning upon a new 


204 


EACHEL STAN WOOD. 


point, “ Come ! Before we go away, look where we 
are.” He left his seat to stand with Tibbie for a 
moment by the choir railing. “See the roof, how 
high it is! The shadows are almost black in the 
corners. Look at the colors in the glass windows, 
how they shine before the darkness, like rainbows. 
See how they come from that window and shine on 
the altar and where the people kneel to lay down 
their troubles. See how many seats in every place 
where people come to call the good God ‘Father! ’ 
I will play once more the organ now, and you will 
sing out of the fullest and best heart what you have 
here, my child,” touching her breast. “I will call 
out all those voices to help you, and you shall sing 
the best you have to offer to the good God.” 

He played an opening prelude, and Tibbie, with 
a better look upon her face, sang with her whole 
soul, “I know that my Redeemer liveth.” 


CHAPTER XI. 


TIBBIE AND HAYILAH. 

The course pursued by Mr. Suydan in his effort 
to recover his three slaves was, in the estimation of 
those acquainted with it, blundering and incompre- 
hensible. 

After discovering the presence of Havilah in Nel- 
son Hall, instead of betraying himself, why had he 
not kept up a silent watch and surprised everybody 
by having her arrested as she left the building? It 
would seem an easy matter. Delphina seemed to 
be right when she declared that he was not clever 
enough to manage such business. It was very cer- 
tain that he was “bossing his own job,” and his 
stupidity and hot temper combined were leading him 
to make a botch of it. After his failure at the fair, 
he created a little flurry by appearing at a few 
places with a constable and a warrant for the arrest 
of Delphina, the least valuable of the three slaves, 
but he stopped entirely his search for Havilah and 
her child. He not only stopped it, but was dull (or 
cunning) enough to let the abolitionists know that 
he had done so. At the Norrises’, one of the places 
where he went in search of Delphina, he announced 
that he was “closing up business in New York,” 
and that his intention was “to go to Mississippi and 


206 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


stay there.” Napoleon, a light mulatto employed in 
the service of the Anti-Slavery Standard office, kept a 
vigilant watch of his movements and announced, 
within a week of Christmas time, that he had 
bought a ticket for Wilmington, Delaware, and had 
taken a train at the Jersey City station. Neverthe- 
less, it was assumed that he might return at any 
time, or that others, perhaps more competent than 
he was, were left in charge of his business. The 
greatest caution, therefore, was still observed by the 
protectors of the fugitives. Delphina, in spite of 
her objections, was sent to live with a Quaker fam- 
ily on a farm far up on the Hudson ; Havilah re- 
mained at Friend Holly’s, where William Hedges 
had taken her for refuge, until February. By that 
time, as there were still no indications of activity on 
the part of her pursuer, it was considered safe to 
allow her and her child to be together again, and 
they returned to the Stanwoods’, where a new crisis 
made her services particularly welcome. 

Aunt Peggy was going to be married ! Havilah 
was summoned to assist in the preparations for the 
wedding and was to serve afterwards as Peggy’s 
successor in the kitchen. Until the wonderful 
event, Peggy refused to give up her dominion to 
anybody and was doing double duty. She declared 
that “nobuddy, white, nor black, from de color of 
de bes’ New Orleans molasses to de milk-white skin 
of little Sis Betty, wan’t gwine to fin’ no clearin’ 
nor scrubbin’ to do after her!” 

Peggy had been a slave all her life until within 
about three years. Her last owner had been a 


m 


TIBBIE AND HAVILAH. 


207 


widow lady of moderate wealth, whose name was 
Petti more, and who lived on her estate in North 
Carolina. She was a kind mistress, owned only a 
few slaves and those were devoted to her. During 
her life nothing would have tempted any one of 
them to leave her, and they served her with the 
greatest fidelity. At her death she bequeathed to 
each of them a piece of furniture, a plot of ground, 
and Freedom 1 The law of the State forbade slaves 
to own property, so Mrs. Pettimore’s did not re- 
ceive their furniture or land. The State could not 
deny them their liberty, but it could make the pos- 
session of it a martyrdom, and they therefore came 
North, destitute, but free. 

There was not a murmur of regret among them 
because they were denied the furniture or the land. 
Peggy obtained something, however, which she val- 
ued far more, — a lock of her mistress’s hair. She 
put it into a little silk bag and wore it, hung around 
her neck, as long as she lived. But when she came 
away from North Carolina she left, living on a 
neighboring plantation, and the property of a hard 
master, Scipio Franklin, her life-long friend and 
lover, and without Scipio, there was no joy in lib- 
erty for Peggy, — that is, until the opportunity 
came when she could work for Scipio’ s freedom 
also. When she found herself earning wages and 
storing them up for the purchase of her lover, she 
enjoyed her first taste of independence. 

Scipio ’s master was a dissipated man who was al- 
ways getting into money difficulties. He allowed 
his slaves to earn money, in extra hours, for the 


208 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


purchase of themselves, hut his deliverance of the 
goods thus bought was always a long way ahead, if 
not doubtful altogether. He was always pinched 
for money, and the installments brought in by the 
purchasers were timely. He could also arrange the 
bargains to suit his own convenience; as soon as the 
chattel was paid for, he could add a hundred dollars 
or so to the price of it. Scipio had been buying 
himself in this way for the past ten years, and the 
goal he aimed for had been kept just a little ahead 
of him. After Peggy had been working at the 
Stanwoods’ for a year, however, a successful trap 
in which to catch and bind Scipio ’s master to his 
bargain was laid by Mr. Stanwood. Peggy’s sav- 
ings and a hundred dollars beside were forwarded 
to Scipio just when he was about to pay the last of 
the sum required of him. As he expected, his mas- 
ter refused to allow him to conclude the purchase 
without the payment of another hundred dollars. 
Scipio offered him a hundred and fifty on the spot, 
if he would make out his free papers then and there. 
The Carolinian was in need of ready money, and 
the bargain was concluded. 

Scipio came North, worked out that extra hundred 
dollars, principal and interest , with the rich aboli- 
tionist who , on good security , had loaned it to Mr. 
Stanwood. He earned enough more to set him- 
self up as a peddler of coal and kindling wood, and 
was at last going to be married to Peggy, in the 
Stanwoods’ parlor, and to take her to a home of 
their own to live. Their youth was gone, middle 
age was come, but a new life was to begin for them.. 


TIBBIE AND HAVILAH. 


209 


On the outskirts of Brooklyn, in a place called 
Gowanus, a little wooden shanty and plot of ground 
had been leased for them. The house was furnished 
with contributions from a few families, of pieces of 
furniture or gifts in one form or another, and Peggy 
was going to add to the income from the peddling 
business by taking in washing. 

So the new crisis at the Stan woods’ was a cheer- 
ful one. 

Everybody was interested in Scipio and Peggy. 
But for the restraint which Mrs. Stanwood and 
Rachel put upon her, Grace Desborough would have 
supplied a whole trousseau for the bride. She felt 
abused at having her contributions limited to the 
wedding gown and a few ornaments for the parlor 
of the little cottage. Another wedding gown was 
offered for Peggy, but was rejected. Tibbie Mac- 
Clare pleaded to be allowed to present Peggy with 
that silk gown of hers which she had worn on her 
first appearance at the Stanwoods’, and which was 
made from one of Mrs. Riverston’s. Rachel was a 
good deal touched by Tibbie’s generosity, praised 
her for it, and told all the girls about it with great 
satisfaction. 

Rachel knew that Tibbie despised the dress for 
her own use, but it was all she had to offer and her 
wish to give it was a sign of grace which ought to be 
appreciated. 

Tibbie took all the commendation she could get, 
and did not think it was at all necessary to explain 
to Miss Stanwood that it was not generosity which 
prompted her, but a contempt for Mrs. Riverston’s 


210 


RACHEL STANWOOD. 


cast-off finery, and the pleasure she — Tibbie — 
would enjoy in seeing it on “an old darkey.” The 
Kiverston impressions of the colored race were 
taken from Christie’s Minstrels, and “darkey” 
was a familiar appellation to Tibbie. 

Tibbie intimated confidentially to Havilah that 
her pleasure would be complete if Mrs. Kiverston 
and her daughter could be invited to the wedding 
and see Peggy in that gown! Tibbie enjoyed com- 
municating these feelings to Havilah, between whom 
and herself there was no love lost. 

In the heat of her bitterness against the Kiverston 
family and their fashionable friends, and the relief 
of finding herself in another atmosphere, at the 
Stan woods’, Tibbie for a little while sailed along 
the current of abolitionism with great enjoyment. 
Aunt Peggy cosseted her, Havilah altered the 
clothes which were given to her so that they fitted 
and were becoming, and Delphina afforded her 
inexhaustible entertainment. Even little Diana 
picked up her spools when she dropped them, and 
waited upon her in various ways. But, as the weeks 
went by and the novelty wore away, her attitude 
toward the colored people began to change, and, as 
it was impossible for her to be moderate in any- 
thing, she very soon veered around to the opposite 
extreme. She grew tired of seeing the constant 
watchfulness and solicitude which the wrongs of the 
negroes occasioned. It seemed to her that they 
were protected and petted just because of their color. 
She was the only white servant in the house, ^nd 
the others were always being held up to her as the 


TIBBIE AND HAVILAII. 


211 


ones to be favored. Everything done for them went 
into the balance and counted as an omission in the 
treatment of herself. It nettled her to see Miss 
Stanwood and Miss Morton sewing for dear life on 
Peggy’s wedding gown, and everybody, down to 
Betty and Richard, doing something for “the stupid 
old woman.” It irritated her especially to see Betty 
sit patiently by Havilah, learning how to make 
Peggy an apron, spending hours at the long seams 
and hem which Tibbie knew would ordinarily be irk- 
some to the child. “And she ’d hate them now, if 
the person she ’s working for was n’t as black as a 
coal! ” Tibbie said. But she would have said much 
more about it, if she had guessed at the child’s 
thoughts. Betty sat on her little outgrown chair, 
got stuck between its arms, and lifted it with her 
whenever she got up for a change ; stitched patiently 
and dreamed, dreams of Peggy in a bridal veil, and 
herself as bridesmaid, with a wreath of flowers on 
her head and pink satin slippers on her feet. Rich- 
ard came along, now and then, to measure the prog- 
ress of her work with a folding ruler which he kept 
in his pocket for the purpose. He added a drop of 
bitterness to Tibbie’s cup by confiding to her that 
his father and he had a delightful mystery about 
something which they were going to take over to 
Aunt Peggy’s after the wedding. “She and Uncle 
Scipio are going to have a house-warming, you 
know, Tibbie,” he whispered, “and I guess you’ll 
be invited.” 

Poor Tibbie had little cups of mild bitterness like 
this offered her from all sides. 


212 


BACHEL STAN WOOD. 


Rachel, under the delusion that Tibbie desired to 
be of service to Peggy, took her over to Gowanus 
one day and worked her pretty hard at the righting 
and furbishing of the little shanty. Tibbie deserved 
considerable credit that day for keeping her feelings 
to herself. She had to carry in her lap, all the way 
from Mr. Stan wood’s to Gowanus, a large plaster 
bust of the Venus de Medici, done up in one of the 
trundle-bed sheets. It was one of the wedding gifts 
from Grace Desborough, and Rachel was interested 
in its being a surprise to Peggy. It was heavy and 
awkward to carry, and Tibbie would have liked much 
to see it roll over the ferry-boat railing and make a 
splash in the water. But she carried it safely, did 
Rachel’s bidding at the cottage, and kept her feel- 
ings bottled up until she got home. She gave vent 
to them, for the benefit of Havilah and Peggy, in 
the evening, when they all sat at work around the 
table, in the front basement. 

Tibbie’s little pointed nose was high in air, and 
her head tossed loftily, while she remarked upon the 
shanty as being all that was required for the couple 
who were to occupy it. But of course, “when she 
was married, a very different place would be pro- 
vided for her. She would be a great lady then, 
with plenty of silk dresses of her own, and laces, 
and feathers, and the like. There was a great deal 
of this talk to which Havilah and Peggy appeared 
indifferent for a time. Peggy tried once to make 
a diversion by asking Tibbie if she would not like 
Havilah to read something aloud, but she struck the 
wrong note. 


TIBBIE AND HAVILAH. 


213 


“No, I wouldn’t,” Tibbie answered with deci- 
sion. “Let those it suits hear your tiresome Deu- 
teronomy chapter, — it has nae fitness for me.” 
Then she added, with a chuckle, “I’d have liked 
well, though, if the curses in it had lighted on that 
white woman’s head I carried in my arms this day! 
When you go to your hame, Peggy, look up at her 
on the shelf, and just think she ’d speak them all, 
if I had my wish, for the dead weight she was on 
my hands.” 

To do her justice, Tibbie wanted the curses for 
Venus, not for Peggy. She returned to her visions 
of future glory for herself. “She ’d have no such 
things as that in her house; she would have ” — etc., 
etc. 

Peggy succeeded this time in making a diversion 
by asking where the house was to be, and who was 
to give it her. 

“Oh,” said Tibbie gayly, “It ’ll be where I like 
to have it, and I ’ll have my choice amang a great 
many who ’ll be glad enough to give it to me. Miss 
Jenny Lind is not the only one who can have crowds 
running to follow her, to heap their favors upon her, 
and to feel as if a smile or a word from her was 
equal to a golden crown! No, indeed! Wait only 
a little while ! It ’ll be shortly now before I ’ll be 
singing on the stage myself, and I ’ll not be doing 
it long before I ’ll be a fine lady, you ’ll see. And 
I ’ll have my fine house and a great many servants 
then. And perhaps I ’ll have you for one of them, 
Havilah. I will pay you better wages than you get 
here, and you shall dress my hair for concerts and 


214 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


the opera. And I ’ll not mind having the child 
along; I could soon train Diana to” — 

“And that will never be!” cried Havilah, snap- 
ping her thread and flashing a quick, angry glance 
at Tibbie across the table. “I would rather see 
Diana beg in the streets than in your power, and 
for myself, I would return to slavery before I would 
serve under you ! The time ” — 

Tibbie’s laughter drowned the rest of what Hav- 
ilah said, and when it stopped, Peggy was looking 
over her heavy spectacles and saying mildly, “Tsh! 
tsh! dah ain’t no kin’ o’ liawm in ’lowin’ de chile 
to conjeh! Let her do it, Hab’lah, an’ when Scip 
an’ me gets to wuk, we ’ll sabe up all de money we 
ken in one o’ Scip’s ole stockin’s, an’ den, mebby 
some night, Hab’lah, we ken take you an’ Di to de 
opera! ” 

From this time forward the antagonism between 
Tibbie and Havilah increased. Tibbie dwelt more 
and more upon her glorious future, when she was 
to eclipse Jenny Lind, and to have everybody at her 
feet. The more she dwelt upon these prospects 
the more she believed in them, and as she pictured 
herself higher and grander in station, Havilah’ s 
condition in life seemed to her lower and more de- 
graded. 

“You were born in slavery and you belong there,” 
she would say. “You got away from it only be- 
cause you cheated your master. Some day you ’ll 
get back to him, — you and your child, — because 
that is your rightful place. I was born to be a 
great singer, and I belong on the stage, where I can 


TIBBIE AND HAVILAH. 215 

stand and look at the crowds of people who come to 
bow down to me.” 

This was Tibbie’s faith, planted long ago in her 
heart, and flowering now in her resentment at be- 
ing, as she thought, set aside, to make way for all 
these people of a lower order. Mr. Stanwood would 
have said that Tibbie’s “familiars ” pressed her hard 
these days. Had her benefactors suspected what 
was brewing in her mind, their genius might have 
devised some means of help for her; had the pa- 
tience of Havilah been drilled in a school any less 
hard than slavery, it might have given way and be- 
trayed the evil that was growing. But Havilah and 
Peggy could endure to the end rather than allow 
the storm to reach those to whom they were bound 
by every tie of gratitude. 

One day, however, when Tibbie and Havilah were 
sewing in a room together, an incident occurred 
which altered the situation considerably. Diana 
turned upon Tibbie and refused to obey one of her 
peremptory orders. Tibbie made a sudden dash at 
her and struck her a heavy blow. Instantly Havi- 
lah’s hand was upon Tibbie’s arm with a grasp of 
iron. Havilah ’s face was livid with rage, and her 
black eyes flamed. Her figure erect, one arm 
raised, she looked, in her fury, like an Amazon 
ready to fell an enemy. For once in her life Tibbie 
was frightened. She gave a suppressed cry of gen- 
uine alarm and cowered in terror lest Havilah ’s arm 
was going to fall. 

Havilah flung her away with the strength of de- 
lirium. Tibbie reeled, and, catching at a chair for 


216 


RACHEL STANWOOD. 


support, turned to see what Havilah was going to do 
next. Havilah stood motionless, looking full into 
the Scotch girl’s face. She waited for a few quick 
breaths, and then said in an unnatural, hard voice, 
“You will never do that again.” She paused. 
Tibbie whispered “No!” In a moment Havilah 
said, in the same voice, “I have brought that child 
away from blows; I have brought her away from 
slavery. I risked my life — and hers — to do it. 
She shall not see what I have seen. You had better 
go to the South, if you want to do such things. 
You cannot do them here.” 

She said no more, but there was something behind 
her silence which was more fearful than any words 
she could have spoken. 

After that Tibbie was afraid of Havilah and her 
dislike was greater in consequence. But her fear 
caused an interim in her teasing, irritating ways, 
and things went more smoothly. 


CHAPTER XII. 


DEUTERONOMY XX VIII. 

There were two hitches in Peggy’s preparations 
for her wedding. The first was a stop in her mind 
on the subject of Grace Desborough. To Peggy 
Grace represented all the aristocracy worthy of rep- 
resentation in the city of New York. In the glow 
of her bountiful gifts, Peggy had invited her to both 
the wedding and the house-warming afterwards, and 
now, as the occasions were almost at hand, Grace’s 
acceptance of the invitations overwhelmed her with 
trepidation. 

“Hadn’t orter done it, no kind o’ way in dis yer 
world,” she said to Rachel, on the morning before 
the wedding. “I ’s done skeered outen my min’ so 
dat I ’s sp’iled de batch o’ cake on’y jes’ dis minnit, 
puttin’ in de sody twiste. Can’t it be tuk back, 
Miss Raychel, in some kind o’ way dat ’s hand- 
some? Ef ’t ain’t, ebery ting ’ll go wrong an’ dey 
ain’t no tellin’ what ’ll get into de vittles.” 

Rachel soothed Peggy’s feelings and pleaded for 
Grace’s invitations to stand. Peggy yielded first 
as regarded the wedding. “She can come to dat,” 
she said, “’cose dey won’t be no cookin’ to spile, 
an’ dey ain’t nuffin’ but de sarramony an’ de chap- 
ter. I ain’t got dem fixed up jes’ right yet, but 


218 


BACHEL STANWOOB. 


de minister ’s cornin’ to-night an’ den it ’ll be sat- 
tled.” 

But it was more difficult to reconcile Peggy to 
leaving her invitation to the house-warming undis- 
turbed. 

“I want Miss Desborough to see how nice her 
china looks in the cupboard, Aunt Peggy, and the 
armchairs she sent for Uncle Scipio and thee, and 
there is another beautiful thing on the high shelf in 
the corner; when thee sees that ” — 

Peggy knew she meant Venus, and after Tibbie’s 
description of the “white woman’s head,” she had 
no desire to see it at all. But she had no notion of 
disappointing either Rachel or Grace by owning up 
to her prejudices. So she skipped at once to the 
subject of the house-warming and said, “I feel jes’ 
as if de bes’ angel dat de Lawd’s got, ’mongst de 
hull crowd, was cornin’ to dinner dat day, an’ de 
Lawd hisself knows I can’t cook nuffin’ to suit dat 
kin’ o’ cump’ny!” 

“Now, Aunt Peggy!” said Rachel. “As if I 
didn’t know what kind of a dinner thee can get up! 
If thee only wouldn’t take so much trouble and 
could bring thy mind to having a simple one, no- 
thing would please Miss Desborough more.” 

“She hadn’t ought to be dar, Miss Raychel,” 
Peggy insisted. “Yo’ jes’ t’ink ’bout Scip! 
What ’ll he do ? How ebber is he gwine to know 
how to ask Miss Desbrum ef she ’s hade ’nough, or 
ef she wants anudder slice aff de j’int? He can’t 
do it! De pore ole man ’ll jes’ set an’ sweat. Oh, 
Lawd A’mighty, Miss Raychel, it’s a heap o’ wuk 


DEUTERONOMY XXVIII. 


219 


gettin’ mahried! I ’s powerful glad we ain’t got it 
to do on’y dis once. An’ dat ’s a mighty comforta- 
ble thing what de Bible says — how dey don’t do it 
in heab’n ! ” 

But Peggy gave way, because of the difficulty of 
recalling her invitation in a handsome enough mes- 
sage. 

The other hitch in the proceedings was in the ar- 
rangement of the marriage ceremony. Peggy had 
certain views in regard to it which did not har- 
monize with those of the Rev. Alonzo Peters, the 
minister who was to officiate. Peggy wanted her 
beloved chapter from Deuteronomy read at her wed- 
ding, and the Rev. Alonzo Peters objected. The 
more he argued, the more set was Peggy. Scipio 
was referred to, and the whole question was discussed 
at length by the three in the kitchen, on the evening 
before the wedding. Scipio was a patient man, and 
listened for some time to all that Mr. Peters had to 
say without replying. He looked occasionally at 
Peggy, who sat like a graven image and smiled back 
at him, placidly immovable. Once Scipio’ s face 
lighted up as he thought of something which he was 
sure would satisfy both parties, and he suggested 
that Mr. Stanwood should read the chapter, before 
the company arrived, to Peggy and himself. Peggy 
looked at him reproachfully and said that, accord- 
ing to the “strick law” of the church, it must be 
read by a minister of the gospel. Mr. Peters 
offered to read it himself, at the time Scipio had 
suggested, but Peggy would have it form a part of 
the ceremony, for the benefit of everybody present. 


220 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


So Scipio smiled at the Rev. Mr. Peters, and 
asked him if he would n’t please be so kind as to 
make it conform with his conscience to satisfy the 
bride. 

But Mr. Peters was not at all sure that the Lord 
would be satisfied by the insertion of the twenty- 
eighth chapter of Deuteronomy into the marriage 
service. 

“It was Moses who preached that sermon,” he 
argued, “and what, in the whole world of reason 
and ecclesiastics, has Moses got to do with the mar- 
riage service? I haven’t anything prejudicial to 
say against the sermon ; it ’s all right, in its place. 
But it was preached to the people of Israel because 
it was just what those people needed at that particu- 
lar time; and it hasn’t got anything at all to do 
with this present generation, especially on those 
occasions when people are going to be united in the 
bonds of holy matrimony. It don’t belong there, 
and it ain’t ecclesiastical to put it there.” 

Mr. Peters might as well have talked to a gate- 
post as to Peggy. 

“Ef ’t ain’t ’clesiastic, ’t ain’t de fault ob de 
Lawd,” she answered. “He commanded Moses to 
say ebry word ob dat chapter, an’ He meant it fur 
to be handed down fum generation to generation. 
Moses did his duty, an’ ef de ministers ob dis day 
don’t do dere duty, t’ ain’t no fault ob hisn.” 

“Dat ’s all berry true, Peggy, an’ yo’ knows I ’m 
willin’ to ’gree to it,” said Scipio, getting his hand- 
kerchief out of his coat-tail pocket. He was getting 
into a perspiration, in his effort to make the two 


DEUTERONOMY XXVIII. 221 

agree. “Yo’ knows, Peggy, dat I ’cepted dat ar 
chapteh long time ago, when yore ole missus was 
’live, an’ yo’ used to get her to read it ’loud to us 
Sunday arternoons, when I used to get away fum de 
quarters an’ go courtin’ yo’. Yo’ knows dat I went 
so fur dat I tuk it all back — dat time when I hade 
anudder subjeck what I wanted ’spressly to talk 
’bout, an’ I made de s’gestion dat some ob dose 
cussin’ passages mought be omitted. I tuk it all 
ba-a-ck, cose yo’ convinced me in dat argyment dat 
de words ob de Lawd ” — Scipio raised his voice 
when he said “ba-a-ck,” and still more at “Lawd,” 
to ward off an interruption from Peggy, who sat 
very upright, with her hands folded over her apron- 
belt, and her eyes fixed on him. He went on, 
“Cose it was de Lawd speakin’ froo de mouf ob 
Moses, — yo’ convinced me dat de wuds ob de Lawd 
couldn’t nebba be cut off, nor lef’ out, ’thout blas- 
phemin’ ob jes’ de berry wust kind. So,” lowering 
his tone again as Peggy nodded approval, “yo’ 
knows dat I ’cepted dat twenty-eighth chapter ob 
Duty-roun’me, clean down to de groun’.” 

Peggy nodded blandly to Mr. Peters, in appre- 
ciation of Scipio ’s condition of grace. 

Scipio was well satisfied with his preamble, but 
he had his doubts as to Peggy’s acceptance of the 
subject proper of what he had to say. He knew he 
was going to be interrupted now, so he hurried over 
the rest, speaking faster and louder as he went 
along. “But eben takin’ all dat into de account, 
does you b’lieve ser’ous dat de Lawd ’d keer berry 
much ef we was married ’thout dat chapter, seein’ 


222 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


dat we is ’quainted puffickly wid it, an’ dat dey 
ain’t no udder weddin’s in de known land dat has 
ebber brung it into use, fum de time ob Moses 
to de time ob Mr. ’Lonzo Peters at de present 
day?” 

It took great skill, but Scipio got this all said be- 
fore Peggy struck in. 

“Yes, I do! Yes, I do!” she cried, with great 
earnestness, “an it’s fur dat berry cose dat we 
oughter hoi’ ourselves strick.” She and Scipio 
were talking a duet, for he was calling out, “I ain’t 
makin’ no contrairy objections, — I ’s askin’ yore 
’pinion, Peggy, nuffin’ mo’.” 

“De Lawd, He mean dat chapteh fur de Letter 
ob de Law,” Peggy was saying, when Scipio lis- 
tened again. 

Peggy’s eyes were filmy as she went on in her 
gentle voice, — 

“Don’t we see, plainer dan de sunlight ob 
heab’m, dat de ten comman’ments ain’t nowhars 
’long side ob it? Dey counts on’y ten, an’ de 
twenty-eighth chapter of Dutyronomy counts sixty- 
eight! An’ dere dey is, all de blessin’s an’ de 
cussin’s fur eberyting yo’ do, right an’ wrong, an’ 
yo’ can’t help knowin’ what yo ’ll git, eider way. 
Scip,” she turned to him and said solemnly, “Yo’ 
an’ me is gwine to start out togedder in a new kin’ 
o’ life, in de on’y home we ’s ebber had, an’ ef we 
want to be spared dose cussin’s failin’ down on de 
roof ober our heads, we ’d better hoi’ on tight to 
de twenty-eighth chapter ob Dutyronomy ! ” 

“Don’ say no mo’! Don’ say anoder word, 


DEUTERONOMY XXV1IL 


223 


Peggy,’’ said Scipio, with his mind fully made up. 
Then, turning to Mr. Peters, he said, “When dey 
is a conscious principle in de question, it ain’t right 
to bear down on dat pusson wid argyments what is 
likely to — or which might be ’terpreted as such, 
or to ’pear to uphol’ any doctrine, or to — what- 
somedever ! ” 

“No!” said Peggy, “an’ yo’ s hit it right dah, 
Scip.” 

Scipio was glad he had, and wiped the perspira- 
tion from his neck, where it threatened to injure the 
starch in his shirt collar. 

So the wedding took place at the appointed time, 
and the ceremony was gotten through with satisfac- 
torily. 

The Rev.. Alonzo Peters, whose objections to the 
selection from the Scriptures still remained, had 
several opportunities to skip passages in the long 
chapter, owing to the fact that the bride’s mind was 
occupied with fitting sins and sinners together, as 
her eyes fell upon one and another of the people 
present. Mentally she bestowed all the blessings, 
collectively, upon the family of Stan wood, Grace 
Desborough, and William Hedges. 

“ When de time comes fur dem to pass froo de 
Gates, dey ’ll be chairs wid golden letters on de 
back all ready for ’em. Dey ’ll be swallered up in 
glory, clean to de mouves, and den dey won’t liab 
no chance to pass it roun’ an’ gib it all to somebody 
else, — dey ’ll hab to drink it! ” she thought. But 
her attention was diverted as soon as the blessings 
ended and Mr. Peters began the warning words of 


224 


BACH EL STAN WOOD. 


the fifteenth verse: “But it shall come to pass, if 
thou wilt not hearken unto the voice ” — 

“Yo’ jes’ wait, Sairy Emmyline Sampson,” 
thought Peggy, with her eyes upon a chipper young 
woman in a gay bonnet, “till he comes to de ‘yoke 
ob iron’ ready for yore neck! Dat ’s gwine to fall 
onto yo’, sho’, ef yo’ keeps on spendin’ all yore hus- 
band’s hard yearnin’s on yo’ clo’es.” 

Mr. Peters was unfortunate just here, and tried 
skipping from “all these curses shall come upon 
thee, and overtake thee,” to “Cursed slialt thou be 
when thou comest in,” but the bride’s eyes lighted 
upon him and she said solemnly, correcting him: 
“ In de city ” — and sent him back four verses. 
But her mind wandered again, in a moment or two. 
“You ’s dar, in de co’ner by de do’ whar yo’ thinks 
de ’freshments ’ll come in bime by, Marse Frederick 
J. Matterson,” she thought, eying an old, white- 
haired negro. “Yo’ better listen in a minnit or 
two, ’bout how de Lawd ’s gwine to gib yore sheep 
to yore enemies! Guess yo’ better stop grabbin’ all 
yo’ can get, an’ put sum'p’m in de collection plate 
next time ! ” Then came thoughts of one and an- 
other person, upon whose ears the sacred warnings 
were falling, and she left Mr. Peters to read ad 
libitum until he tried to make a bold skip, from 
the fifty-ninth to the sixty-seventh verse. Peggy 
repeated pointedly, “ Den de Lawd ’ll make yore 
plagues won’erful,” and the minister went back im- 
mediately and finished the chapter without further 
break. 

When the ceremony was over Scipio had to resort 


DEUTERONOMY XXV 111. 225 

to his bandanna, to save his shirt collar from col- 
lapse. 

Grace Desborough was the only person present 
who did not understand the ways of colored people 
well enough not to be disturbed by the reading. 
With her heart full of the wrong of oppression, she 
thought of the colored race as sufferers and martyrs, 
and the grotesque element in the present occasion 
jarred upon her c She wanted the little wedding to 
be impressive, and was more hurt than amused 
when Peggy interrupted the minister. She won- 
dered at Will Hedges, when he conducted her to the 
newly married pair to offer congratulations, because 
he did not seem disturbed. He only said, “Do you 
feel as I do, Miss Desborough, — as if a special 
mantle of righteousness had fallen upon you?” 

“It is all so new to me,” she said seriously. “I 
cannot understand.” 

“Oh, you will in time,” Will said gayly, “there 
isn’t much that is mysterious. Wait until you 
know Aunt Peggy better. Come with me now, and 
get her blessing; it is worth having.” 


CHAPTER XIII. 


THE ARISTOCRACY AT AUNT PEGGY’S. 

Horace and Grace Desborough gratified their 
parents, for a time, by accepting invitations whole- 
sale. They went to the Gray thorn ball, and were 
light-hearted there. Mrs. Desborough was pleased 
to discover that the flowers which Miss Graythorn 
carried all the evening were those which Horace 
had sent to her, but she was disappointed not to see 
him more devoted. 

After opening the ball with her, he danced only 
once with Miss Graythorn, while he was continually 
running after Grace. 

“ As if young men went to balls to dance with ’ 
their sisters ! ” Mrs. Desborough said to her hus- 
band, in the retirement of a bay-window. “Can’t 
you” — 

“Oh no, don’t! Let them alone, my dear,” 
said Mr. Desborough, who was tired and bored. 

“ Some of the other fellows will be after Grace soon 
enough ; she is the best-looking girl in the room, by 
a long shot.” 

“I don’t know what is the matter with some of 
the fellows,” said Mrs. Desborough. “There is 
Burton Riverston not dancing at all, and looking as 
glum as if he was at a funeral.” She wanted him 


THE ARISTOCRACY AT AUNT PEGGY'S. 227 

to be attentive to Grace, but he had scarcely spoken 
to her. And both Lindsey and Frank Graythorn 
were “as dull as owls,” she thought, “with their 
elaborate courtesy to everybody and no marked 
attentions to any of the girls.” She said “any” 
to herself, but she meant Grace. Mrs. Desborough 
was not very happy at the Graythorn ball; none of 
the young people did what she wanted them to. 
There were plenty of opportunities for Horace to 
offer attentions to Miss Graythorn, but he did not 
avail himself of them. His mother was so annoyed 
by his allowing them all to be seized by other young 
men, that she found it difficult to follow what Mrs. 
Riverston was telling her about their plan of going 
abroad next summer, and she scarcely answered with 
sufficient cordiality that lady’s suggestion that she 
and Grace should join them. 

Her mind always traveled fast, when it once got 
started. The only response she drew from her hus- 
band, when they reached home, was a criticism upon 
her over-anxiety, and his opinion that Horace and 
his sister were doing well enough and had better be 
left alone. 

Certainly the brother and sister were nevfer more 
in sympathy with each other or more manageable 
than they were during these days. They went 
everywhere and seemed bent upon conforming to 
their mother’s wishes in social matters. If this 
was the result of giving way to Grace in her anti- 
slavery whims, both parents agreed that it was most 
gratifying. 

There was another result which was less satisfac- 


228 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


tory. Grace’s friendship with the Stanwoods was 
not only more closely cemented, but Horace was 
drawn into it. He had stopped objecting to the 
growing intimacy, and instead of resisting Grace, 
he followed her. He seemed to enjoy going with 
her to make an evening call at the Stanwoods, or 
calling for her when she went there to tea occasion- 
ally, and waiting upon her home. 

He was himself getting intimate with William 
Hedges, took long walks with him, and had him 
often up in his room, where they seemed to have 
discussions which interested them both immensely. 
Horace did not like to be reminded now how he 
had once made fun of Will, when he had called him 
“wildly popular.” 

Mrs. Desborough called him “ a ranting abolition- 
ist,” and marveled at his attraction for her son. 
But face to face with him, when he stopped in the 
parlor before or after his visits upstairs with Hor- 
ace, Mrs. Desborough thawed in spite of herself. 
Will carried a passport of his own wherever he 
went. 

Then, as another result of all that fair business, 
an interchange of calls had started up between 
Grace and the Norrises, Mortons, Quimbys, and 
Bixbys. Mrs. Desborough did not like all this. 

“They seem like nice young people, my dear,” 
said her husband. “I must confess that the only 
effect I have observed upon Grade is the remarka- 
ble way in which she has waked up, since we allowed 
her full swing at that fair. If it is these new ac- 
quaintances who have roused her interest in things, 


THE ARISTOCRACY AT AUNT PEGGY'S. 229 

I should recommend leaving them to go on. What 
harm do you think they do? ” 

“I don’t know that they do any,” said Mrs. Des- 
borough. “But that isn’t the point. The point 
is, Robert, who are they f That is what I can’t 
find out. Mrs. Riverston asked me the other day 
where the Stanwoods came from, and I was actually 
mortified because I could not tell her! She is wor- 
ried to death over Burton, because he is wild about 
Miss Stanwood. His mother came to me, because 
somebody had told her that Miss Stanwood was 
Grace’s most intimate friend, and she thought I 
would be sure to know who they are. But I don't 
know, Robert! There it is,” patting the table with 
her palm for emphasis, u I don't know ! " 

Mrs. Desborough set her thin lips together, as she 
finished, and lifted her chin to her husband with the 
hitch which seemed to imply that, with this state- 
ment, they came to a dead stop. 

“Well, my dear,” said Mr. Desborough, going 
to the mantelpiece to light a cigar, “you can say 
they are Quakers. I find that answers for a good 
deal. That sect, somehow, carries its credentials 
in its name. And, as I said before, I don’t know 
that they are doing us any harm.” 

“Because you don’t understand, Robert,” said 
his wife, moving to a chair by the open fire, to 
warm her feet. “Men never see harm of this kind 
until it is too late to prevent it, and then they come 
to us women to cure it. I ’m not complaining be- 
cause you don’t; you can’t be expected to.” 

Mrs. Desborough enjoyed managing social affairs. 


230 


BACHEL STAN WOOD. 


She was skillful and knew it. In her circle she was 
often appealed to in questions of prestige and eti- 
quette, and she felt her position to be one of author- 
ity in these matters. She was speaking from her 
social throne now. 

“We are being dragged into a new set, Robert, 
and that is the harm,” she said, as if it were a 
grievous thing. “And I don’t know where it is 
going to lead us. Why, here I am, actually begin- 
ning to receive calls from the mothers of Grace’s 
friends! Mrs. Morton came to see me only this 
very afternoon, and without any invitation what- 
ever! She said that since our children were — ’ 
No, let me think of her exact words ; they were as 
prim as her Quaker bonnet. She said, ‘Since a 
friendly intercourse has sprung up between our 
children, Father and I thought we had better make 
the acquaintance of thyself and husband.’ Taking 
it all into their own hands, as if ” — 

Mr. Desborough took his cigar out of his mouth 
to burst into a roar of laughter. 

“It is true! ” said his wife, with a dead wall ex- 
pression, as if here was a problem which even she 
could not solve. “Her very words! Think of a 
little Quaker woman, all in gray, coming to teach 
me my social obligations ! ” 

Mr. Desborough roared again. 

“It is a sight I am sorry to have missed, my 
dear,” he said. “What encouragement did you 
give her? ” 

“Just as little as would answer for the occasion,” 
she replied promptly. “Plenty, however, for the 


THE ARISTOCRACY AT AUNT PEGGY'S. 231 

instruction of anybody but a Quaker. I talked 
about the many social demands made upon me, 
the difficulties resulting from widening one’s circle, 
and so on, but — law! I might as well have talked 
to one of Eloise’s dolls! There she sat, smiling at 
me like an immovable saint, and the more I said, 
the less she understood. And she went off finally, 
thanking me for the pleasure her call had given her 
and saying that she understood how ‘great my obli- 
gations were to the world in which I moved,’ and 
that she ‘hoped I would go to see her only at my 
own convenience! Don’t trouble thyself at all,’ she 
said; ‘Father and I will call together sometime, 
when thy husband is likely to be at home. We will 
be friendly with one another, for our children’s 
sakes.’ H’m! I feel as if I had had a Quaker ser- 
mon preached to me in my own parlor. ‘For our 
children’s sakes!’ I wish Horace and Grace had 
never seen one of their children ! ” 

Mrs. Desborough felt all these things so keenly 
that she took occasion to present them seriously to 
Horace. He had grown reticent in expressing his 
opinions. He had ceased all criticism of his sister’s 
friends. As “a set,” he had ridiculed and objected 
to them, but, as individuals, he had been for two 
months steadily learning that they were more intel- 
ligent and attractive than most of the people in cir- 
cles to which he was accustomed. When his mother 
appealed to him to confirm the opinions he expressed 
in the beginning, he tried to modify them, changed 
his tone, and bluffed into other subjects. 

Mr. Desborough, too, was beginning to be anx- 


232 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


ious because of his son’s reticence in business mat- 
ters. The case which they had talked much about 
together had dropped out of their conversations. 
If Mr. Desborough inquired about it, Horace’s an- 
swers were short and indefinite. Perhaps it was 
only because of other interests. He seemed devoted 
to Grace, to enjoy taking her about to places, to 
Mrs. Kemble’s readings, to Wallack’s, to their 
parties, and everywhere; it was natural for young 
people to hobnob with one another, and certainly 
there was no need to worry because of a young 
fellow’s attentions to his sister. Mr. Desborough 
wished they would go oftener to the Graythorns’, 
and wondered if that young Hedges was exerting 
any undue influence over his son. He decided that 
he would ask Graythorn a question or two concern- 
ing Horace’s work upon that case. 

But there was no manner of use in the resistance 
of these parents to the natural course of events and 
its results. There was certainly a revolution going 
on in the Desborough family, and it was idle to try 
to check it in its course. 

It was harder than ever for Mrs. Desborough to 
keep up the proprieties. Even Eloise was giving 
her trouble, creating a little flurry of her own by 
announcing that she was invited to go to Peggy’s 
house-warming with Grace, and that she was going. 
Eloise’s method of gaining a point was to claim it 
at the outset. 

The account which Grace had given of Peggy’s 
wedding was tame beside the one which Betty Stan- 
wood gave at school. Betty had begun hers at re- 


THE ARISTOCRACY AT AUNT PEGGY’S. 233 

cess, on the day before the wedding, by proclaiming 
to a dozen of her classmates, “I ’m not coming to 
school to-morrow; I ’m going to be a bridesmaid! ” 
Of course the girls had broken into a clatter of 
exclamations and questions, which brought out the 
story of Scipio and Peggy from little Betty’s point 
of view. The noses of the other children were well 
up, but their interest was great, for, beside her 
powerful imagination, Betty had considerable gift 
for narrating, and her stories were popular. Eloise 
Desborough intimated that, when she was a brides- 
maid, the bride would at least be a white one, and 
rather produced an atmosphere of scorn around 
Betty. The children looked askance at Betty, but 
the story was too spicy to be injured by a few airs. 
So it all came out, down to the details of what dif- 
ferent friends had done toward getting the little 
house furnished, to the rag carpet for it, made of 
bits of Stanwood clothes, the flowered cups and 
saucers, the armchairs for Scipio and Peggy, and 
the two wooden chairs with their legs shortened to 
suit the legs of Betty and Dick, who were to occupy 
them when Scipio should tell them stories. The 
bust of Venus overtopped everything else, in Betty’s 
description, and was a crowning splendor with 
which nothing short of the original goddess could 
compare. In fact, Betty reached so fine a climax 
with Venus that Eloise was pleased to remark, “My 
sister gave that,” and thereby drew to herself a re- 
flected glory. 

Now Eloise Desborough looked askance at Betty 
for being on an equality with a degraded race, quite 


234 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


as much as any of the girls did, but there was a 
point beyond which she could not hold out. She 
had missed one comic performance (the wedding) 
and she had no intention of missing another one. 

Eloise’s little inquisitive nose scented, with re- 
markable subtlety, anything unusual which occurred 
in the family. Her detection of confidences or mys- 
teries was as remarkable as the scent of an Irish 
setter in tracing the footsteps of his master. Hor- 
ace had had no conversations concerning his altered 
views on the subject of slavery and the colored race, 
excepting with Grace, on that sleigh ride, and with 
Mr. Hedges, in the privacy of his own room, yet 
Eloise appealed to him as to the one who would 
most ably help her to carry her point by gaining 
permission for her to go to Peggy’s and Scipio’s 
house-warming. He persuaded her to consent to a 
compromise and to go to Scipio’s with him, in the 
brett, which he meant to take to Gowanus in the 
afternoon for the purpose of driving Grace and Miss 
Stan wood home. Eloise got more than she bar- 
gained for; Horace provided her with a most unex- 
pected companion, in the person of Havilah’s little 
girl, Diana. 

After that occasion when Tibbie MacClare and 
Havilah had both lost their tempers over the child, 
the latter’s companionship had been a source of dis- 
comfort, rather than pleasure, to her mother. It 
was with eagerness, therefore, that Havilah accepted 
Peggy’s offer to take Diana to live with Scipio and 
herself at Gowanus, for as long a time as Tibbie 
should remain at Mr. Stanwood’s. “An’ dat won’t 


THE ARISTOCRACY AT AUNT PEGGY'S. 235 

be forebber, I c’otion yo’, Hablah,” Peggy pre- 
dicted. “Cose Miss Tibbie is made ob de mos’ 
dangerous elements, she is, an’ some day she ’s 
gwine to bu’st up an’ go off, like a streak o’ liglit- 
nin’. It ’ll be powerful good luck, too, if de light- 
nin’ don’t strike somewhars an’ make destruction, 
dat ’twill!” It was decided that the time of the 
house-warming would be the most convenient one 
for the removal of Diana, as Peggy wanted Havi- 
lah’s assistance in making the occasion a success. 
The child could go with the party, and remain in- 
stead of returning. All knowledge of the friction 
between Havilah and Tibbie had been kept from 
Mrs. Stanwood, who readily accepted, as a reason 
for the change, Havilah ’s nervousness lest her mas- 
ter might renew his search for her, and a feeling 
of greater security in having Diana somewhere else 
than under the same roof with herself. Mrs. Stan- 
wood agreed to the arrangement without much ques- 
tioning. She fully understood the tendency of ne- 
groes to huddle together, and knew that Havilah 
would feel Diana’s safety better assured among her 
own people. Havilah’s nervous dread of her mas- 
ter’s reappearance was so great that she lived on the 
alert. She expected to see him every time she went 
into the street, and hence had the strongest objec- 
tion to going anywhere in company with the child. 
When Horace Desborough was planning the drive 
home from Scipio’s, with the sole object of getting 
Rachel Stanwood on the seat beside him, he inci- 
dentally discovered Havilah’s fears and offered to 
take little Diana to Gowanus, with Eloise and him- 


236 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


self. He had his doubts as to Eloise’s acceptance of 
Diana’s company, but — but he would have Rachel 
beside him, all the way home! He would manage 
Eloise somehow. 

Eloise behaved better than her brother had ex- 
pected her to. In the first place, she was ignorant 
of the fact that Diana was not a pure-blooded white 
child. 

“Who is she? And why are we going to take 
her?” she had asked, but when Horace answered, 
“I will tell you presently,” she was satisfied. And 
Diana was bewitching, in her delight at being in 
such a beautiful carriage. As soon as she was 
seated she looked several times, with a radiant face, 
back and forth, from Eloise to Horace, and then let 
out her joy upon them in a laugh that was so happy 
that it came almost with a sob. Her face had that 
too-happy expression which touches one sometimes 
to the quick. Horace knew very little about chil- 
dren, but Diana’s wordless gratitude was unmistak- 
able. He put his arm around the little mite and 
snuggled her closer under the fur robe. Eloise 
helped him with the child, fastening her cloak more 
securely, straightening her hood and matronizing 
her with great satisfaction. By the time that Eloise 
discovered that the child was a slave, Diana, over- 
come by the motion of the carriage, the fresh air, 
and too much to look at, was fast asleep with her 
head flopped over against Horace. 

Horace explained who Diana was, because he 
wanted Eloise to keep the secret of the child’s ref- 
uge. If she was generally selfish, thoughtless, and 


THE ARISTOCRACY AT AUNT PEGGY'S. 237 


loved worldliness, Eloise was human. She prom- 
ised to keep the secret and Horace knew that she 
would. She tried, considerately, too, to move the 
child to lean against herself, instead of her brother. 
“I don’t see how you can drive with her there,” she 
said. But the child’s body was entirely relaxed, 
and drooped helplessly to Horace’s side. 

“Let her stay so, I like it,” he said, and along 
the little-traveled Brooklyn street leading to Gow- 
anus, where it was easy to drive with one hand, his 
left hand kept the fur robe in place over little Di. 

The Desborough carriage, stopping at Scipio’s 
dwelling, marked the dwellers therein as aristocracy 
among the colored population of Gowanus. 

“Sonny,” called Scipio, to a very dark little ne- 
gro boy who was peering from the lean-to of a 
neighboring shanty, “can’t yo’ git somebody to 
come yer an’ hoi’ dese horses?” The boy himself 
and a dozen others, of all ages and complexions, 
answered the call, from so many different directions 
that it seemed as if they had sprung out of the 
ground. Horace handed sleepy little Di over the 
wheel to Havilah, and helped Eloise down amid 
the gaze of a small population. Betty and Dick 
Stanwood, at the gate to receive them, envied Eloise 
her grandeur. A dusky population was, to them, 
perhaps even a little more distinguished than a white 
one, and they thought Eloise must feel proud of its 
admiring eyes. But she did not; she was disap- 
pointed. She had expected the cottage to look like 
the engraving of “My Childhood’s Home,” which. 


238 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


hung in her room, and to have, like the house in 
the picture, a balcony and trellises, a vine-covered 
porch, and latticed windows. “Nobody told me it 
was a shanty,” she said to Betty contemptuously. 

“It isn’t a shanty! ” snapped Betty indignantly, 
and feeling personally insulted. 

But, from Eloise’s point of view, it certainly was, 
being a one-story wooden building, clapboarded and 
unpainted, with a lean-to at the back. There were 
no trees at all and the ground around the house was 
barren, excepting for stubble. There was a small 
outbuilding for the accommodation of Scipio’s horse 
and cart. House, shed, and ground were enclosed 
by a low board fence. 

Elizabeth and Richard had Eloise’s superiority all 
to themselves, as they conducted her from one to 
another of the four rooms into which the cottage was 
divided, showed off Peggy’s best china and homely 
treasures, and, in refutation of the house being called 
a shanty, made her climb the funny little crooked 
stairs which led from the parlor to a low attic, 
under the ridgepole, with the smallest of windows 
at each end. In common justice to Eloise it could 
not be denied that the cottage fell far short of the 
glories of Elizabeth’s description at school, and, that 
fact taken fairly into account, she behaved very well. 
The hospitality of Scipio and Peggy bore down upon 
her, too, with its freight of chocolate to drink and de- 
licious cake, of which there were three little loaves, 
beautifully iced and on funny earthen plates, for the 
children to take home. Eloise was hungry after her 
drive, and Peggy’s cake and chocolate went to the 
right spot. 


THE ARISTOCRACY AT AUNT PEGGY'S. 239 

To Scipio and Peggy the distinction of receiving 
Horace was secondary to that of entertaining Grace, 
and, under the influence of her warm and simple 
nature, their sense of awe and responsibility had 
thawed into genuine, hearty pleasure. Horace, al- 
though sensible of an out-of -place feeling, saw the 
prettiness of the cottage interior, and, in the glow of 
the open Franklin stove, listening to Mrs. Stan wood 
drawing out stories of their experiences from Scipio 
and Peggy, he felt his new interest in the oppressed 
race grow keener and more real every moment. As 
Havilah passed a cup of chocolate to Rachel, he no- 
ticed her face. Her skin was no darker than that 
of many a brunette whom he had known, — Miss 
Gray thorn’s, for instance. Her forehead was more 
intellectual, and, but for that half scowl and the hard 
lines about her mouth, he would call her handsomer 
than Miss Gray thorn. In a drawing-room, dressed 
suitably, she would be pointed out as a remarkably 
fine-looking woman. She had not the carriage of a 
lady; that was natural enough, poor thing. How 
could you expect a woman, hunted as she was, to 
have any sort of bearing but one of subjection? 
Following this train of thought, Horace lost track 
of Scipio’s last story and heard only his closing re- 
marks. 

“Dat’s so! Dat’s de way it’ll be, jes’ as sar- 
tain as de Day ob Judgment.” 

“How will it be? ” Horace asked. 

Scipio pointed to an engraving of Ary Schaeffer’s 
“Christus Consolator,” over the mantelpiece. He 
pointed to the figure of the African, with his arms, 


240 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


from which broken fetters were falling, outstretched 
toward the Saviour. 

“Dat-a-way,” he said solemnly. “De chains o’ 
bondage will be broke forebber ! ” 

Scipio was tuning up. At the South he had been 
accustomed to speak at prayer-meetings, and, since 
he had lived in the North, he had taken advantage 
of the freedom of speech allowed at the semi-public 
meetings among his people, and often waxed elo- 
quent. The present occasion had progressed and 
was drawing to a close without any ceremonies ex- 
cepting the blessing which he had asked at the din- 
ner table. Peggy had forborne even to mention 
Deuteronomy, although her eyes had fixed them- 
selves upon Horace and Eloise as probably ignorant 
of its gospel. And now Scipio, started up by Mr. 
Desborough’s question, “How will it be?” felt it 
incumbent upon himself to address the meeting be- 
fore it adjourned. 

The “Chains of Bondage” was a favorite text 
with him always ; he had felt them and knew what 
he was talking about. Eloise unconsciously started 
him upon it now, with Ary Schaeffer’s picture for 
illustration, in a blaze of anger so just that it could 
not avoid being eloquent. Eloise was at Horace’s 
elbow when Scipio answered his question. Her 
eyes, which nothing escaped, caught two facts, — 
the important one that here, in this poor little shanty, 
was an engraving like one which hung in the library 
at home, and the minor fact that this picture con- 
tained a superfluous figure. 

She edged up to her brother, pointed to it and 


THE ARISTOCRACY AT AUNT PEGGY'S. 241 

asked in an undertone, not observing that Scipio 
had approached and was listening, “Horace, what 
does Betty’s Uncle Scipio mean about chains? I 
see them there, but our picture at home is different 
and much prettier; that black man isn’t in ours at 
all, why is he in this one?” 

Scipio made Eloise jump, catching at her words 
and shouting behind her, “ Why f Yo’ axes why 
dat man is lef’ outen yo’ picture to home? Cose 
dey is people in de Norf w’at doan want dat man 
to go to heaben! Dey wants him to wuk all de 
days ob his life on de plantations, plantin’, an’ 
diggin’, an’ hoein’, an’ toilin’, day in an’ day out, 
so ’s dey can hab de rice, an’ de sugar, an’ de cotton, 
an’ de ’baccy, w’en dey ’s ready to take de’r res’ by 
de chimbley co’ner. Dey wants him on’y to res jes’ 
long ’nough so ’s he can begin nex’ mawnin’ fresh 
an’ smaht, an’ — nebba min’, chillen, tellin’ yo’ 
’bout de wives an’ de mudders holpin’ ’long, an’ de 
oberseer, an’ all dat, — yo ’ll lun ’bout dat soon 
’nough, — de man hissel’ ’s ’nough fo’ yo’ ’ntelli- 
gence. I says dey ’s people in the Norf ” — • Scipio 
used the back of Mrs. Stanwood’s chair, for want 
of a pulpit rail, gesticulating over her head. He 
wiped the perspiration from his face before he went 
on: “dey ’s people in de Norf dat wants de African 
fo’ jes’ dem pupposes an’ dat ’s all. W’en he ’s 
done his wuk, — w’en he ’s wuk’d out an’ can’t do 
no mo’, an’ he ’s ready to lay down his ole bones, 
— dey ’ll make room fo’ ’im in de dus’, but dey 
hasn’t got any use fo’ ’im any furder. Dey ’d like 
him jes’ to stay in de groun’, — but he needn’t go 


242 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


to heaben, whah dey specs to go. JVo, bredren 
an’ sister en! Dose people ain’t got no use fo’ de 
African in dat place! De wuk ’s all done , up dab! 
De shubbles an’ de hoes is put ’way, an’ de place is 
all cleaned up, spic an’ span, ready for de Jubilee, 
an’ dey ain’t no place dah fo’ de African! He 
needn’t try to git inside, — not eben to peek in de 
cracks, dey ’s gwine to shet de do' / ” Scipio’s 
arms made a gesture as if they swept the race out 
of existence. He was getting oratorical. The chil- 
dren stopped listening. Eloise, on the alert for 
amusement, nudged Betty and tried to make her 
laugh. Betty and Dick were too accustomed to this 
sort of thing to get up emotions over it, and too rev- 
erential toward it to be amused. “Let ’s go in the 
kitchen and pack up our cakes and play ‘Come-se- 
come!’” Bichard suggested, and they sneaked out 
in a body. 

Horace and Grace were intensely interested. 

“But nobody except the Lord has power to close 
the gates of Heaven against any one,” said Grace 
earnestly, “and Jesus will save all if” — 

“Dat’s true! Dat ’s true! I knows dat, bress 
yo’, Miss Desbrum,” said Scipio, his face relaxing 
into smiles. “An’ dat’s whar dose people I’m 
talkin’ ’bout is gwine to git berry much disapp’inted 
at de time ob de Day ob Judgment. I ain’t any- 
ways troubled ’bout w’at de Lawd ’ s gwine to do ! 
Nor Jesus, nudder. But yo’ axed ’bout how ’t was 
dat black man was lef outen de same picture in yo’ 
house. I ’m a tellin’ yo’ de fax ob de case, dat ’s 
all, an’ in a minute yo ’ll reach de census ob de 


THE ARISTOCRACY AT AUNT PEGGY'S. 243 


argyment. It’s on’y jes’ dis, — de Sabiour, He 
sayd, ‘Come unto me all dat ’s heaby laden,’ and 
dose people I has mentioned, dey t’inks dat means 
everybody ’cept de African. Dey likes dat picture, 
an’ dey wants it in the praher books an’ different 
places, so dey jes’ rubs de man out, an’ dat fixes 
it all right fo’ dere use. Dat ’s why dey publishes 
half de pictures athout de black man, — to suit de 
fashion. An’ dose pictures gits into people’s houses 
like yores cose folks like yore folks doan’ know de 
man b’longs dah.” 

Scipio was embarrassed by the difficulty he felt 
here of convincing Grace and her brother that he 
did not number them among those exclusive and 
objectionable people of the North who had been the 
subject of his remarks. “I don’t know w’at dose 
folks’ll do w’en dey gits dar ! ” he said, slapping 
his knees and laughing, “cose, sartain sho’, dar de 
Africans is gvnne to be , an’ dey ’s a heap o’ folks ’d 
rather come back dan to stay in de same comp’ny ! ” 

But it was time for the guests to depart, and the 
stir of breaking up began. Mrs. Stanwood, with 
Betty and Dick and Havilah, were the first to go. 

Horace and Grace urged Mrs. Stanwood to let 
them take Havilah home in the carriage, as the safer 
way for her to go. Mrs. Stanwood was delighted 
with their offer, but refused it, assuring them that 
Havilah’ s long cloak and thick veil protected her 
completely from recognition, even should they meet 
anybody who knew her. Mrs. Stanwood acquainted 
her with the invitation, only to show her how many 
friends there were, on all sides, anxious to protect 


244 


RACHEL STANWOOD. 


her. Havilali looked up at Horace with sad, heavy 
eyes and said, “I thank yo’, sir; and I thank yo’ 
for yo’r kindness in bringing my little girl. Yo’ 
can’t” — She looked from him to Grace beside 
him, and all the lines of her face softened with a 
hopeless smile, as if words were useless. 

“Can’t what?” asked Grace, moving closer to 
Horace and taking hold of his hand which he had 
laid upon her shoulder. Grace repeated, “Can’t 
what? I think we can , you know.” 

“Oh no, no!” said Havilah, with an expression 
almost of pity for Grace’s innocence. “I was going 
to say only that yo’ can’t ever need such kindness, 
and so yo’ can’t ever know how it feels to owe any- 
body what I owe to yo’.” She bent down suddenly 
to embrace Diana and say good-by to her once more. 
The child squeezed her mother’s neck in her arms 
and kissed her fervently, but made no resistance at 
being parted from her. She climbed into a chair 
by the window and craned her little neck to see the 
last flutter of her mother’s dress as she went away. 
Her self-control was pitiful. 

“Why doesn’t she cry? /’ d like to,” said 
Grace to Rachel. 

“She has been moved from pillar to post until 
she is too accustomed to being parted from her mo- 
ther to make any fuss about it,” said Rachel. 


CHAPTER XIV. 


Rachel’s talisman. 

On the drive home, with Rachel Stanwood beside 
him, Horace Desborough was gayer than Grace had 
ever seen him. She and Eloise, on the back seat, 
were rather quiet. Indeed, Grace would have been 
depressed had Horace’s spirits been less buoyant. 
All that talk about Ary Schaeffer’s picture, together 
with the patient, submissive parting between Havi- 
lah and her child, filled Grace’s mind with sad 
thoughts which gave her such a realizing sense of 
the wickedness of slavery that she felt heavy-hearted. 
She could not understand how Horace could be op- 
positely affected. He seemed to have thrown off a 
burden and to be joyous in his relief. Had Grace 
seen his face she might have thought of another 
reason for his happiness. Rachel saw it, and, with- 
out guessing or questioning, caught his spirit of 
gayety. The drive was very exhilarating. It was 
a rare treat to her and she seized every pleasure 
it afforded, the irresponsibility as to direction and 
the delight of looking at the sky, the landscape, 
the river, the bustling, crowding human life in the 
streets, all as pictures, herself a looker-on, and not 
a part of them. Driving was too much of a nov- 
elty for her to enjoy it tamely. She and Horace 


246 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


were meeting upon new ground, too, and it was re- 
freshing and delightful. They talked about music, 
Jenny Lind, Ole Bull, the Philharmonic orchestra, 
pictures, the Dusseldorf gallery, everything that 
was only happy, and did not touch upon one of the 
serious subjects which had hitherto seemed to make 
up all they had to converse upon. Occasionally, 
where it was safe, Horace put the reins in Rachel’s 
hands, and gave her elaborate lessons in driving, 
and she enjoyed a delicious sense of power in guid- 
ing and controlling the horses. Her ignorance gave 
her courage; she thought she was skillful and was 
unconscious of Horace’s dexterity in taking the 
reins from her whenever any real skill was neces- 
sary. Grace held the reins, while Horace helped 
Rachel to alight at her door and rang the bell for 
her. Her face was radiant when she thanked him, 
all aglow with nothing but pure, light-hearted plea- 
sure for which he was responsible. 

When the door closed Tibbie MacClare gave her 
a card and told her there was a beautiful bunch 
of flowers in the parlor for her which “ the gentle- 
man himself had brought ” only a little while be- 
fore. Rachel looked at Burton Riverston’s card, 
laid it on the hat-stand shelf, and went upstairs to 
take her things off, without stopping to look at the 
flowers. 

Horace Desborough had, to use his own expres- 
sion, discovered himself. He had gotten rid of a 
burden of doubt, and knew now just where he stood 
and what was before him. Scipio’s explanation of 
Ary Schaeffer’s picture came as a climax to all his 


RACHEL'S TALISMAN. . 247 

thinking and he had decided upon his course. That 
was one secret of his gay spirits. 

But it was a long time before he felt that kind of 
gayety again. He seemed to grow quiet after that 
visit to Scipio’s, spent a good many evenings in 
Will Hedges’ room, and left his father to smoke his 
after-dinner cigar alone. Grace understood him 
now better than the others did, and waited. He 
went with her where she wanted to go, took her to 
drive, and was with her as much as possible when 
he was at home, but he was not confidential any 
more. 

“I ’m working out my own salvation,” he said to 
her one morning in the latter part of May, as he 
was starting off to his business. “The crisis is 
near at hand; as soon as it ’s over, I ’ll tell you all 
you want to know.” 

“Well, you seem to have decided, at least, and 
that ’s one thing,” she said, improving the knot of 
his necktie. 

“Yes, dear, I have decided,” was all he answered. 
Then he kissed her and went away. 

A few days after, walking up town with Will 
Hedges, he told him all about it, and ended with: 
“ So there it is, Hedges — I’m going to disappoint 
nearly everybody and make my father think I ’m 
going to the devil! ” 

“Do you feel yourself that you ’re going there?” 
Will asked, smiling. 

“No — I feel like a man,” said Horace. 

After they separated, Horace stopped at a flo- 
rist’s and bought a quantity of pink rosebuds. “If 


248 


RACHEL STANWOOD. 


it wouldn’t be imitating Hedges,” be thought, “I ’d 
like to cross the Hoboken ferry and tramp after 
some wild flowers, — something awfully hard to 
get.” He went a mile out of his way to leave his 
roses at Mr. Stanwood’s door, for Rachel. 

In the evening he went to call upon her. After 
a little ordinary talk about nothing in particular 
she looked up at him and asked, — 

“What is the matter? Have you won a case 
to-day? ” 

She had one of his roses in her hair, and was do- 
ing some fine netting work which made her hands 
fly about in a way that interested him. It was fas- 
cinating to watch her give the fine gold cord a toss, 
push the long needle through its intricate little twist, 
and then pull the knot taut. 

“Why do you ask? Are you a clairvoyant?” 
asked Horace. 

“Not at all,” she answered. “It does not need 
any extraordinary vision to see that something has 
come to you — a decision in your favor, a triumph 
of some kind, big or little; good luck in some 
form . Come ! Has n’t it ? ” 

She paused with her needle in the air and looked 
up at him with questioning eyes. 

He insisted upon knowing what made her think 
so, saying: “Give me your ground for suspicion, 
and then I will make my confession.” 

“Oh, my suspicion is justified,” she said, throw- 
ing the cord over her left thumb. “In the first 
place, you look better satisfied than I have seen you 
for — oh, for weeks.” 


RACHEL'S TALISMAN. 249 

“Right so far, — I am,” he said, laughing gently. 
“What next? ” 

“Well,” she said, pulling a knot firm, “as if 
something had been given to you which you had 
wanted ever so long. That right?” 

“No, I want it still,” he said, amused. “But go 
on; I’ll admit the ‘something.’ Why can’t I do 
that? Show me how.” 

The silk on her needle had given out and she was 
preparing to fill it again. 

“You’ll be clumsy, but you may, if you like,” 
she said, showing him. He enjoyed it and was 
purposely slow. When he had secured the thread 
from slipping out of the eye of the long netting 
needle, he said, — 

“ Go on ; give me more evidences for thinking I 
have had some good luck. You have not justified 
your remark at all, so far.” 

“Well,” said Rachel, folding her hands together 
on her knee, “you looked, when you came in, as 
if you had come to the end of something hard; as if 
you had got what you had aimed for, and as if it 
were something you had a right to. You looked 
entirely satisfied with yourself, Mr. Desborough. 
Now for your confession ! ” 

“Ah!” he said, holding up the needle, which 
would not hold any more silk. She took it, laugh- 
ing at his filling it so full, and made it turn back 
and forth so rapidly that he could not see it, as she 
unwound two or three yards. 

“See what a long piece you have made me waste,” 
she said, with mock reproach. 


250 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


He took the needle from her, professing that he 
wanted to learn just how much silk to put on it 
another time. What he really wanted was her un- 
divided attention, and to have her hands at rest. 

As she opened her tiny scissors to cut off the su- 
perfluous piece of cord, he said, “Now you are going 
to cut the thread of my destiny.” 

“Then he grateful that it is a golden one,” she 
said, laughing and snipping the silk. “If you’ll 
do that, I will let you off from any more confes- 
sions, if you wish.” 

“I don’t wish,” he said quickly. “I came on 
purpose to make them, and because I want your — 
interest.” 

He wanted so much more than her interest that 
it was hard not to tell her so. He bent his head 
over his hands while he unwound the silk again 
from her netting needle. 

“I have come to the end of something difficult, 
and I sent you those roses because I wanted” — 
He sat upright and made an effort to jest, as he 
gave a little laugh and said, “I wanted to celebrate 
the event.” 

“Oh! ’’came in a joyful little exclamation from 
Rachel, as she flushed with pleasure and threw a 
smile at him. 

“ And you give me my roses that I may help cel- 
ebrate. I am so glad, and thank you so” — she 
began. 

“No, don’t,” he said, impulsively. “Here — 
see what I have done with your thread. Take it, 
please, and go on working. I ’d rather you would ; 


RACHEL'S TALISMAN. 251 

I can say what I want to better, if you don’t look 
at me.” 

He gave her the needle and silk all in a mess, and 
she obeyed him to the letter, disentangling the silk, 
rewinding it and resuming her work industriously. 

Horace told his story as directly and simply as 
he could: “The day after we were at Scipio’s cot- 
tage, I went to the head of the firm which I was 
serving and withdrew from a case which they had 
given me to work upon. If they win it, their client 
will become the owner of a large estate in Virginia, 
upon which there are a good many slaves. If they 
lose it, the estate will go to a young lady who is 
eager to sell it and to have the slaves on it liberated. 
I was obliged to tell Mr. Graythorn that I was too 
anxious to have the case lost by his client to be able 
to work upon it. Of course he was very angry, and 
we had a pretty hot argument in which he tried to 
convince me of the error of my ways, etc. Never 
mind all that. The upshot is that I abandoned the 
case and made arrangements, as soon I could finish 
certain work on another case of which I had charge, 
to abandon the firm. No, — please don’t speak, 
Miss Stan wood.” 

Rachel bent her head again over her work. 

“My father ” — Horace was coming to the hard- 
est part now; he paused a little and began again: 
“My father is disappointed. He is more than that, 
— he is angry. I don’t blame him; he started me 
a year ago in ipy profession, — magnificently too, 
and I made a mark in it that gratified him and 
made him think I was going to fulfill all his extrav- 


252 


BACHEL STAN WOOD. 


agant expectations. And now it ’s all up! We ’ve 
been having no end of talks and arguments. Ac- 
cording to my father, my whole responsibility is the 
study of my country’s laws and how to help sustain 

them, without intruding or going into the details 
of personal opinions and prejudices. And there ’s 
a good deal to say on his side, too. So — I am too 
proud to let him help me start again, and I ’m go- 
ing to do it by myself. I wanted to tell you be- 
cause the first thing you knew about me was ghastly, 
— it was the fact of my helping to get a decision 
which sent two men back to slavery. And now I 
want you to know that — I believe you do know it, 
but I ’d like to say it to you, — that I call things now 
by different names; the honor I prided myself on 

then, I call dishonor now, and I would give any- 
thing in the world if it could be wiped out and for- 
gotten. So there it is, and” — He broke off and 
moved nearer to the table, took up the long piece 
of her golden silk which she had accused him of 
making her waste, and said in a bright way, as if it 
Were easier now to jest, “Can’t I have this? You 
accused me of having had some good luck, — can’t 
you make me a kind of talisman, or something, of 
this and wish me success in my new enterprise? ” 

“Indeed I can! ’’she said eagerly. “Only you 
shall have a better talisman than that. See, my 
work is finished, and if you will have it, I will give 
it to you with wishes for the most crowning success.” 
She held up a tiny purse, exquisite and perfect in 
its make. 

“Aha!” exclaimed Horace, seizing it joyfully. 


RACHEL'S TALISMAN. 


253 


“There ’s real justice too in your giving me that.” 
They both remembered her refusing him a similar 
one at the fair. 

Horace made a point of her writing a charm to 
put inside of the purse, and she brought out her 
desk. They made an important thing of the charm- 
making. Finally Rachel wrote on a bit of paper, 
“Courage, prosperity, and success,” and asked if 
that would do. 

“I should like your name and mine on it, some- 
how,” said Horace. 

Her cheeks burned while she wrote, “With all 
my heart I wish all three to my friend, Horace Des- 
borough,” and signed her name. 

When the bit of paper was folded and put inside 
of the purse, Horace made a final difficulty of hav- 
ing the latter enclosed in a suitable wrap. She sat- 
isfied him with a small sheet of note-paper from her 
desk, in which she carefully folded the purse. 

“And there goes the thread of my destiny,” Hor- 
ace said while he was insisting upon an elaborate 
and intricate winding, around the small parcel, of 
the long, wasted piece of silk from which he would 
not allow her to cut the smallest bit. 


CHAPTER XV. 


AT THE BLACKSMITH’S SHOP. 

For the best part of the winter Mr. Kreutsohn 
put his very soul into the lessons which he gave to 
Tibbie MacClare. His day dreams carried him on 
to the time when he might bring her before the pub- 
lic, and when her voice, with its wonderful passion, 
would touch the heart of the world. That was worth 
working for. He labored, sacrificed, and toiled 
with Tibbie through all the ups and downs and try- 
ing variations of her disposition. He experienced 
every possible temperature in her atmosphere, and 
it is safe to say that she put him through as many 
modulations as could be represented by a dictionary 
of musical terms. In the evening, when his sister, 
who shared his joys and sorrows, his sufferings and 
day dreams, inquired about Tibbie, he would, if she 
had been tractable, take his pipe out of his mouth, 
beam with satisfaction, and say, “Ach! Dolce can- 
tabile! pianissimo, con espressione ! ” and the day 
dreams would be vivid. But after a hot lesson, he 
would say “Ach! ” in a different tone, scowl darkly 
at his sister and exclaim, “Fortissimo! Allegro 
vivace, con fuoco tempestuoso ! ” and his visions 
would seem to disappear in the wreaths of smoke 
from his pipe. 


AT THE BLACKSMITHS SHOP. 


255 


Tibbie was Tibbie. She could not be the person 
whom the musician invented in his dreams. She 
enjoyed Mr. Kreutsohn’s talk, but she listened to it 
as if he were telling fairy tales. After the mood 
which he excited passed away, there was very little 
impression left. All that about the organ stops, for 
instance, while it was serious to him, was to her 
only funny and clever when it was a few days old. 
She was clever too, and did not tell him what she 
thought of it, because she liked to sing with the 
organ, and begged for lessons in the church. She 
adopted a little trick of saying, “I want to hear 
those voices in the organ.” He was touched at first, 
when she said that; gratified her, and out of the 
goodness of his heart played his best for her, and 
paid extra fees to the sexton for blowing the bel- 
lows. Tibbie soon learned that, of all the old mas- 
ters about whom the musician talked to her, Bach 
was the one whom he most revered ; so she adopted 
another little trick of asking him to give her a les- 
son in the church so that he could play Bach’s music 
to her. But she tried it once too often and opened 
his eyes. One day, when she said, “It is true what 
you have taught me, — the greatest of all is Bock,” 
he had been playing airs from an Italian opera, and 
she had been throwing peanuts over the choir rail- 
ing at the old woman who was dusting the pews. 
Mr. Kreutsohn played the Italian airs that day pur- 
posely to test her and discovered that her liking for 
the great composer was all a pretense. 

When Tibbie found that she had betrayed her- 
self, she laughed aloud, — - an unfeeling, elfin laugh 


256 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


which made the echoes in the church ring, as if ugly 
sprites and goblins were hiding among the rafters. 

After that it was desecration to play Bach’s music 
to her. 

So Mr. Kreutsohn stopped putting soul into the 
lessons and substituted conscience. Tibbie did not 
know the difference. She was growing tired of the 
lessons ; they meant too much work. She felt that 
she could do all that was required without so much 
trouble. To her thinking she sang the scales all 
right; what was the use of repeating them? She 
could make a roomful of people listen to her with 
wonder and admiration ; so she could make every- 
body, if they would give her a chance. Why did n’t 
they hire Castle Garden for her, as they did for 
Jenny Lind? She’d pay them back what it cost 
and more too. 

This was the attitude into which Tibbie Mac- 
Clare’s mind settled and seemed finally to fix itself. 
Never did the most earnest missionaries work harder 
to put light into a darkened soul than did the Stan- 
wood family and Mr. Kreutsohn to plant good seed 
in the heart of Tibbie. She had the family philan- 
thropy all to herself, too, for Havilah went to the 
Mortons’ early in March, little Diana remained at 
Scipio’s, and Tibbie was the only sinner on the field 
at the Stanwoods’. During the gaps which occurred 
in the succession of unfortunates or sinners, the va- 
cancy in the kitchen was filled by a tough, leathery, 
wrinkled little Dutch saint, Mrs. Rab, called by 
Elizabeth and Richard, “Grandmother Rab.” Since 
Havilah’s departure, she had lived at the Stanwoods’ 


AT THE BLACKSMITHS SHOP. 


257 


and contributed to, rather than drawn from, the 
stock of philanthropy which was at Tibbie’s service. 
There w T ere times when poor Tibbie melted; when, 
alone with Mrs. Stanwood, she cried pitifully, and 
vowed every kind of penitence and reform. After 
these times she went at her music and about her 
work with an energy which was as much a frenzy as 
was the tempest of her wrath when it broke loose. 
Mrs. Stanwood’ s faith in her reform remained firm. 
“We must take time. Her passions have had 
twenty years to grow in ; she is entitled to a few 
in which to conquer them,” that untiring lady would 
say. Once Mrs. Stanwood conceived the idea that 
the calm quiet and peacefulness of Quaker meeting 
would soothe Tibbie and pour balm upon her spirit. 
So one Sunday morning she took her to the Hester 
Street meeting. But the rows of motionless and 
rigid figures in front of them (they were on one of 
the back benches) made Tibbie frantic. The peo- 
ple seemed not even to breathe, everybody looked 
transfixed. Tibbie sat through half an hour of 
silence and then gave a sudden scream. Mrs. Stan- 
wood grasped her arm and whispered, “ Is thee go- 
ing to do that again? ” 

“I don’t know; I’m afeerd so,” answered poor 
Tibbie, and Mrs. Stanwood marched her out. 

When they reached the corner of the next street, 
Mrs. Stanwood asked, “What possessed thee? ” 

“I think it was the de’il,” said Tibbie simply, 
and beginning to cry. “It seemed like the Judg- 
ment, in the stillness of death, an’ the people all 
struck dumb ! ” --- 


258 


BACHEL STANWOOD. 


When Mrs. Stan wood told her husband about it 
and quoted Tibbie’s opinion that the devil had 
prompted her to scream, Mr. Stanwood said, — 

“ I tell thee, Debby, Genius understands Mm bet- 
ter than we do. I advise thee to try her with some- 
thing hotter than Friends’ meeting next First-day.” 

“That is what she has grown up on; I ’d rather 
try something else,” said Mrs. Stanwood. 

With the latter part of May came conventions, 
anniversaries, and yearly meeting week. The Stan- 
wood s’ house filled up, emptied, and filled again 
with guests to such an extent that Dick’s length be- 
came quite adjusted to the cramped limits of the 
trundle-bed. 

It happened one morning when everybody was at 
a meeting and the children at school, that a gentle- 
man called, and, when Tibbie informed him that no- 
body was at home, asked if he might leave a message 
with her for Mrs. Stanwood. He was quite an ele- 
gant person in appearance, and Tibbie, pleased by 
his deferential manner toward herself, graciously 
invited him into the parlor and offered him the op- 
portunity to write his message. He neither wrote 
it nor left it verbally. In fact, he entertained Tib- 
bie for half an hour, thanked her profusely for her 
intelligent and courteous answers to his questions, 
and asked her permission to call again. As to the 
message, he said it was, after all, of no consequence, 
and unless she desired to do so, she need not men- 
tion his call. “He is just the nicest and kindest of 
all that I ever saw come to the house; he knew me 
for a lady, an’ there ’s nae call for me to say more 


AT THE BLACKSMITH'S SHOP. 


259 


tlian he hid me,” thought Tibbie, after he had gone. 
He did call again, twice, and saw nobody but Tibbie 
on either occasion. And there were two or three 
other times, too, when he met her on her way home, 
after her singing lessons. Everybody in the house 
was busy, with the company coming and going, and 
meeting-hours to keep, so that Tibbie was not both- 
ered with questions and kept her own counsel. 

One evening, after all the meetings and anniver- 
saries were over, the Morton girls and Grace Des- 
borough came to tea at the Stanwoods’, and Eliza- 
beth Stanwood went to dine at the Desboroughs’, 
with Eloise. It was Elizabeth’s first visit to the 
Desborough mansion, and her feelings were divided. 
Grace was her ideal of all that was beautiful and 
lovely; she did not want to leave her, and was 
frightened at the idea of not having her protection 
through the ordeal of dinner at the Desboroughs’ 
table. On the other hand, Betty was to wear her 
best white frock, and, for the first time in her life, 
a sash. That was one compensation and there was 
another mighty one. Grace had come in the car- 
riage, and Elizabeth was to be driven back in it ! 

“Like Cinderella, going to the ball,” she whis- 
pered to Dick, before going out. “If thee was 
going too, we might play thee, was the Prince, and 
that we were going to the palace to live forever.” 

“Pshaw!” said Dick, peering through the side- 
light, by the front door. “It ’d be lots more fun to 
be the coachman ! I wish they ’d let me get up 
there with him ! ” 

Betty sat alone on the back seat of the carriage, 


260 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


her dress spread out as far as possible, the ends of 
her sash carefully drawn around into her lap. The 
sash was only a lutestring ribbon two inches wide, 
of so pale a salmon color as to be nearly white, but 
it was a sash, and it so occupied her mind that she 
did not see Dick’s nose flattened against the narrow 
window-pane, or hear the good-bys sent after her 
by Grace and Rachel. Neither did she see, in an 
upper window, the only person who really fitted into 
the story of Cinderella, — Tibbie MacClare, who, 
from the scowl upon her face, might have been one 
of the cross sisters. 

“No matter,” Tibbie was thinking, “you’ll see 
me soon enough in my own carriage. May be I ’ll 
drive up to the door and leave tickets for the family 
to go and see me get the honors that belong to me ! ” 

Tibbie’s head was as full of visions as little 
Betty’s was. She fastened her collar at the glass, 
studied the arrangement of her hair, touching and 
coaxing it into the most becoming curves, tied on 
her bonnet, and taking a bundle from the bed, went 
softly down the stairs, and by way of the china 
closet, down the piazza steps into the garden. 

June had come, and the garden was in the height 
of its glory. Grapevines had learned to run ram- 
pant there ; they straggled over the fences, covered 
the arbors, and in the back corner climbed up the 
blacksmith’s shop all the way to the eaves. Roses 
of many varieties nodded their heads on the side of 
the garden next the lumber yard, and trailed from 
the piazza stairs. Along the piazza front climbing 
roses and honeysuckles got into a regular tangle, 


AT THE BLACKSMITHS SHOP. 


261 


fighting it out between them all the Way, to keep 
the railing out of sight from end to end. Mountain 
pink and sweet alyssum bloomed red and white 
along the borders of the flower beds, which scarcely 
vouchsafed so much as a peep at the earth between 
their gay and thrifty plants. Where the soil was 
stony, and it was hard to make flowers grow, por- 
tulaea and myrtle spread themselves. “Benjamin 
Bump,” covered with cypress, was his own funereal 
monument, and over the big rock in the vegetable 
bed a minaret of morning-glories waved their bells 
gayly, of a morning, and of an afternoon gathered 
themselves up into little trumpets which it was fun 
to blow into and snap. Just as Tibbie disappeared 
among some lilac bushes, Rebecca and Susy Morton, 
Grace Desborough and Rachel, all fresh and lovely 
in their light summer gowns, came out upon the 
piazza and down into the garden. Richard, wind- 
ing his way among them, and ducking under their 
elbows, got ahead and went running, with all his 
might, down the path. His scheme was to hide 
somewhere and presently frighten the girls by jump- 
ing out at them. He made straight for the morn- 
ing-glory minaret, and darting in at the opening, 
bumped against Tibbie and nearly knocked her over. 
Tibbie staggered, recovered herself, and broke out 
in a volley of words which would have made Dick’s 
hair stand on end, if her Scotch dialect had not 
made them mere gibberish to him. 

“Ouch! You bumped my head! I didn’t know 
you were there, any more than a wild bull! Don’t 
tell where I am!” was all he said. 


262 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


Tibbie's eyes snapped and she ended her volley 
by rushing away to the further end of the garden. 
Dick peered through the openings among the vines 
to see if the girls were following him. 

In a moment or two, Tibbie also was peering at 
them, and of all places, from a queer little door up 
under the ridgepole of the blacksmith’s shop! The 
door opened upon a wooden balcony which had once 
served as the landing for outside stairs, but the 
latter had been removed, and Tibbie had evidently 
reached her hiding-place by means of Mr. Stan- 
wood’s grapevine ladder. 

The girls went to gathering flowers, at first for the 
tea-table, but afterward they fell to decorating one 
another with them. They sat down on some rustic 
benches almost under the blacksmith’s balcony, to 
put what they had gathered into shape. Grace 
made a crown of coral honeysuckle for Rachel, but 
the effect was somehow disappointing. Rachel 
laughed and said, “It ’s of no use, girls, I ’m a born 
Quaker, and you can’t make anything else of me ; 
let ’s make a dryad of Susy.” She gathered large 
grapevine leaves and plaited them into a wreath 
which nearly covered Susy’s head. The others 
plaited long bands of the leaves and wound them 
about Susy’s trim little figure. The result was 
pleasing and rather suggestive of a mischievous 
wood nymph, or sprite of some sort. 

“Pile’ em on! ” Susy said, spreading her arms out 
and lending herself to the whim. “I’m more a 
‘born Quaker’ than Ray is, but in my case Dame 
Nature is glad of assistance.” 


AT THE BLACKSMITH'S SHOP. 


263 


While they were adorning her they fell to singing. 

“Oh!” said Rebecca Morton, presently, break- 
ing off from the song. “What would I give to 
be in Tibbie MacClare’s shoes, with her voice and 
Mr. Kreutsohn’s teaching? How does she get on, 
Ray?” 

“Better ask her how he gets on, — that’s more 
to the point,” said Rachel. The girls laughed, and 
Rachel added idly, “Poor Tibbie! ” 

“ Poor /” exclaimed Rebecca. “I call that a 
paradox. What is she to be pitied for? ” 

“She ’s such a sinner,” said Susy dryly. “Don’t 
talk about her, — she gives me the creeps. We say 
‘Poor Uncle Jo and Aunt Debby ’ at our house, and 
‘Poor Rachel; ’ she is in luck, and undeserved luck, 
too.” 

“Oh, we can’t be so sure of that,” said Rachel, 
holding up a cluster of roses from which she was se- 
lecting the most perfect ones. “There, Rebecca, 
fasten that in Sue’s hair, instead of that dryad’s 
wreath, which is immensely becoming, but only a 
temporary adornment. There ’s hope for the sinner 
that repenteth, Sue, and Tibbie does repent.” 

Susy broke into a peal of laughter. 

“Repent! ’’she cried. “I should think she did, 
— like a house a-fire ! She went at it the other day 
when Aunt Debby was cutting out my Infant Asylum 
wrappers for me. She didn’t know I was there. 
Phew! I prefer her, myself, in her original char- 
acter of Sinner ! ” 

The girls laughed at Susy’s nonsense. 

From the blacksmith’s window Tibbie scowled 


264 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


her darkest down at them. The grapevine, in a 
snarl overhead, trailed down long ends and be- 
friended her concealment. 

“And if I was black, you’d be calling me a 
saint/’ she muttered to herself, while she put on 
her gloves. 

Richard lost his joke; for the girls did not go near 
the morning-glory vines, and the only person whom 
he startled was Grandmother Rab, who came out 
to the vegetable bed to see where Tibbie was with 
the lettuce and radishes which she had promised 
to bring in for supper. Grandmother Rab did not 
enjoy being startled, and gave Dick a sharp piece 
of her mind. He said, “Everybody is as cross as 
tigers ! ” when he joined Rachel and she asked him 
what was the matter. Susy Morton, to prove the 
contrary, proposed a race, and that altered his 
opinion. 

With the girls running like fauns, disappearing 
under arbors and behind shrubbery, coming out 
from shadows into light again, with laughter ring- 
ing, with Dick racing, crisscross, everywhere, shout- 
ing and boiling over with fun, the garden was alive 
with gayety and it was a pity for the tea bell to 
ring. 

“Halloo! Who left the door open?” Dick ex- 
claimed, stopping at the fence on the back street. 
He closed it with a bang and, sliding the bolt, shut 
out the only impish, ugly spirit which had been 
about. 

“And thee was a naughty little mother not to call 
us, when thee found Tibbie was out,” Rachel said, 


AT THE BLACKSMITHS SHOP. 265 

when they went indoors. “But no matter! We ’ll 
have a glorious revenge by and by, if Tibbie does n’t 
come back in time to clear the table.” 

Tibbie did not return and they had the revenge 
they coveted. Dick was in clover, helping them. 
He had a long story to tell Betty, by and by, when 
Mr. Horace Desborough brought her home. Betty 
and Dick retired under the big side-table in the 
back parlor to have it out together. Betty began, — 

“Oh, Dick! Thee and I are to go riding with 
Mr. Desborough some day, in that carriage he took 
to Uncle Scipio’s! He ’s going to coax sister Ra- 
chel to go too, and thee and I are to have the back 
seat all by ourselves, except my dolls. He says I 
can take as many dolls as I want to, and I think a 
good many ought to go, because they never had a 
chance before, and” — 

“If Anna Maria Louisa Lorrimer goes, / won’t,” 
said Dick, immediately making the doll question 
complicated. 

Anna Maria, etc., was an ancient doll, three feet 
long, with leg-o’-mutton sleeves, scant petticoats, 
and a poke bonnet. Dick abhorred her. 

Betty deftly withdrew from the discussion of her 
inanimate family and mentioned the chances of Mr. 
Desborough’s letting Dick sit in front and drive 
part of the way. This was exciting, and brought 
down a shower of questions as to Betty’s visit. She 
gave a detailed and glorified account of everything. 
According to her, the splendor of the house far ex- 
ceeded that of the Riverstons. 

“And they have settled beds for everybody! ” she 
said, reaching the climax of luxury. 


266 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


In the back parlor Mrs. Stan wood knitted at a 
bine yarn sock, while her husband and Horace Gree- 
ley, who was making an evening call, discussed the 
relative efficacy of immediate or gradual emancipa- 
tion. In the front room Rachel sat at the piano 
playing to the young people. But Rebecca Mor- 
ton and Horace Desborough were the only ones 
who listened. Rebecca delighted in Rachel’s music, 
although it stirred up within her unsatisfied long- 
ings. Things seemed to her strangely parceled out. 
Why should Tibbie MacClare be gifted with a voice 
for singing, blessed with the opportunity for cul- 
tivating it, and apparently denied an understand- 
ing of her advantages? And why should she, Re- 
becca Morton, be given a soul that hungered for 
music and be denied every opportunity to satisfy 
it? Why need the rigid Quaker prejudices against 
it have been planted so firmly as they were in the 
minds of her parents? Why could not she have 
what Tibbie was, to all appearances, throwing away ? 
It was pretty hard for Rebecca to be a good Quaker. 

Horace Desborough turned the leaves of Rachel’s 
music in answer to little signals which she gave 
him. The signals were not always necessary, but 
he was not bound to tell her that, and waited for 
every one. 

His sister and William Hedges were not listening 
to a single note that Rachel played. They were 
talking together in low tones, so intent and happy 
that they did not know anything about what was 
going on at the piano. 

Susy Morton did not know one note from another, 


AT THE BLACKSMITH’S SHOP. 


26T 


and could not sing the simplest tune straight. It 
was the easiest thing in the world for her to be a 
good Quaker; she looked at Rebecca’s wistful ex- 
pression and wished again, as she often did, that she 
could do the sectarianism for both. She sat on a 
low, rush-bottomed chair, in the shadow of an old- 
fashioned, high book-case, and commented to herself. 

“Father and mother will have to let up on thee, 
Beck, or something ’ll happen,” she thought, and 
then made a short study of Horace Desborough. 
Looking from him to Rachel, over at William 
Hedges and Grace, back and forth a few times, 
Susy’s brown eyes seemed to awaken with thoughts 
new-born and interesting. “Hm! ” she thought, “I 
never thought of you stepping in, milord ! Thought 
all the others were fools to leave the field to The 
Riverston. Thought he had it to himself! Was 
getting mad because nobody came to the rescue, and 
wondered how Will Hedges could stand by and see 
it.” She looked over at Will. He was writing 
something on a fold of Grace’s fan. Grace was 
bending toward him, reading as he wrote ; he passed 
the fan and pencil to her and she wrote something 
upon another fold. Susy watched them scribbling, 
first one and then the other, several times. 

“Playing ‘Consequences’?” she wondered. 
“Hope the fan’ll hold out. I’d offer mine to 
piece out with, if I dared. William Hedges, I in- 
tended thee for Rachel. I didn’t think you had 
sense enough.” Her eyes were back upon Hor- 
ace. “Guess you ’re coming out of Egypt into the 
light of something besides abolitionism! ” 


268 


BACHEL STAN WOOD. 


Rachel finished a short prelude of Bach’s and 
broke into a little laugh with the last note. “It 
is so happy! ” she said, looking up at Horace, with 
the flush of enthusiasm. “There isn’t a note in 
it, from beginning to end, which isn’t pure, light- 
hearted joy. Listen! This” — playing little pas- 
sages with either hand while she pointed to the music 
with the other, — “and this, — and this. Don’t 
you see? You can’t help it, — it throws the joy at 
you and you must catch it and laugh back. Does n’t 
it make you feel like answering back?” 

“Yes,” said Horace, smiling down upon her. 
“If I could throw back as much joy as it gives me, 
I would be — will you play it again? ” 

“Well, well!” thought Susy, “You can finish 
that speech some other time.” She took a prolonged 
look at the other couple and then, bending one of 
scrutiny upon Horace, she summed up her reflec- 
tions with the thought, — 

“If everybody is satisfied, I suppose I ought not 
to grudge Will to Grace. And, after all, there is 
something about you, milord, that makes me think 
you ’ll do.” 


CHAPTER XVI. 


ANOTHER DIFFICULTY FOR THE DESBOROUGHS. 

Mrs. Desborough was not so comfortable in her 
family pew as she used to be. Horace had be- 
come very irregular in his attendance at church, and 
her husband seemed to be absorbed in disturbing 
thoughts, not at all in harmony with the service. 
His responses were not always fitting. Mrs. Des- 
borough changed Eloise’s seat because of her saying 
one day, as they were coming out of church, — 

“Papa, you kept saying, ‘We beseech thee to 
hear us, good Lord, ’ instead of ‘ Good Lord, deliver 
us!”’ 

Eloise’s occupation at church was to try to catch 
somebody tripping in the service. 

Grace was never absent from her seat and was 
always devout, but her mother looked across Elo- 
ise at her with anxiety, and with a sense that, men- 
tally, the girl was drifting away from her. Look- 
ing along the pew now, Eloise was the only one who 
did not worry Mrs. Desborough. It was painfully 
comfortable to have Horace away; he and his father 
were so at variance. Why could n’t young people 
be reasonable ? The poor lady had hard times keep- 
ing her own mind upon the service. Clever as she 
was, she was too much out of sympathy with them 


270 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


to reach far along the principles which governed 
either her husband or children. She did not see 
why they could not all think what they pleased and 
forego action. • 

“For instance,” she said one morning when she 
was planning some alterations to be made in one of 
Grace’s gowns, “the present fashion in dress is not 
altogether convenient to walk in. I would greatly 
prefer, for my own comfort, not to have my gowns 
touch the ground, but is that any reason why I 
should wear a bloomer costume ? Suppose my prin- 
ciples should lead me to join that community over 
in Jersey, — The Phalanx, I think they call it, — - 
and dress as they do! ” 

Grace, standing before her mother’s long mirror, 
trying on her dress, cried out, laughing at the ab- 
surd suggestion. 

“Yes, you exclaim at the very idea of such a 
thing,” said her mother, “and yet you don’t see the 
application to what you and Horace are doing.” 

Grace certainly did not, but she was silent. Her 
mother was no more illogical than usual, and under 
the delusion that she had made a strong point, went 
on, — 

“Why can’t you be content to disapprove of 
slavery in the same way that I disapprove of the 
fashions? I don’t see, just because you think the 
institution wrong, why you need feel it your duty to 
join the mob.” 

“Oh, mamma!” cried Grace again. “Horace 
and I have n’t joined any mob ! I don’t know what 
you mean. The abolitionists don’t mob, — it is the 
other side which does that sort of thing.” 


ANOTHER DIFFICULTY. 


271 


“They do just the same thing, — they attract 
mobs,” Mrs. Desborougli insisted dogmatically. 
“Without abolitionists, there would be no mob, and 
they are responsible. You and Horace are making 
great mistakes, too, in the same direction; you are 
attracting to the house abolitionists as your friends. 
You are fastening the name Abolitionist to your 
own and your father’s name, and are making your- 
selves talked about.” 

“Well, mamma dear,” said Grace, sitting down 
in a hopeless little way on the side of a chair and 
putting her hand on the back of it. “I don’t know 
what we can do about it. I had to do what I did, 
and Horace has got to do what he is doing. You 
don’t want him to stay with Graythorn & Ben- 
derly if the work they give him to do is against 
his principles, do you?” 

“ He was with them to do the-e-ir work, not his, 
and his duty was to regulate his actions by the-e-ir 
principles. He was not responsible for their prin- 
ciples, in a-a-ny way whatever. Your father says, 
Grace, that Horace, by breaking with that firm, 
has stepped right off a high round of the ladder, on 
to the very ground! ” 

Mrs. Desborough had a way of accompanying the 
punctuations of her chin with a drawl on her em- 
phatic words, and of closing her eyes when her feel- 
ings were most intense. Her eyes remained shut 
while she said: “Horace has made the mistake of 
his life ; he has thrown away his grandest opportun- 
ity and is forced to begin again at the very begin- 
ning, with nothing and nobody to help him ! ” 


272 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


Grace waited a moment and then said softly, as 
if she were telling the reflection of herself in the 
glass, rather than her mother: “Yes, there is some- 
body to help Horace. ” 

“Who?” asked her mother, snapping her eyes 
open. 

“Mr. Hedges — his friend, Mr. William Hedges,” 
said Grace, startled to see in the glass how her 
color flashed. Then with a sudden movement 
toward her mother, she exclaimed, — 

“ W ait, mamma dear, and I will tell you all about 
it, because I know it will be a comfort to you. My 
dress is all right now, isn’t it? May I take it off? 
I know it will be lovely, whatever way you fix it, 
mamma. There ! ” laying the dress she had taken 
off upon the bed, “I didn’t disturb a single one of 
the pins, and that is quite wonderful for me; isn’t 
it?” 

It was so much easier to talk while she was busy 
that Grace made the most of all the details of restor- 
ing the sewing paraphernalia to her mother’s work- 
basket and boxes; of putting on again her dainty 
dressing-gown with great exactness. While she was 
trying ribbons and patting bows into shape, she 
said: “You know Mr. Hedges setup an office for 
himself a year ago, and they say he is making a 
reputation very fast indeed ; as a pleader, I believe. 
They say he has a wonderfully clear and just way of 
making out a case. And ho told me, the other even- 
ing at Rachel’s, that it will help his prospects very 
much to have Horace share his office, and that he 
and Horace have agreed to go into partnership. 


ANOTHER DIFFICULTY. 


273 


They are so fond of each other and understand each 
other so well that they are sure to get on. Aren’t 
you glad that Horace has such a noble friend to 
stand by him ? ” 

Grace was forgetting herself. The color had 
come into her cheeks to stay, her eyes were shining, 
and all the light and animation which her mother 
had missed and longed for were back in her face 
again. Mrs. Desborough watched her and listened, 
a new light dawning more clearly upon her mind 
with every sentence. Every tone of Grace’s voice 
betrayed her, as she went on : — 

“Mr. Hedges has a case all ready to offer Hor- 
ace, too. But you must not speak of it, because it 
is to be a surprise. You see, I am telling you se- 
crets, mamma, but I can’t help it because I know 
they will be such a comfort to you. But you need 
not keep them long — only until to-morrow night. 
The partnership is to begin to-morrow. And Mr. 
Hedges has had a beautiful little sign made with 
“Hedges and Desborough, Attorneys at Law” on 
it. Horace does not know that, either. So you 
see, mamma dear, he has somebody to help him, 
not only to start up the ladder again, but to reach a 
higher place than ever. And who is there in all the 
world who would be half so true and noble a friend 
to Horace as he will be? If you and papa knew 
him as I do, you would not be cast down, but you 
would be proud of Horace because he has won such 
a friend. You would believe, as I do, that he has 
won a thousand times more than he has lost. Oh, 
if I were in Horace’s place, with him to be my 


274 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


friend, I would not be afraid of anything in all the 
world!” 

“Gracie!” cried Mrs. Desborough softly, and 
the name was like a little cry of pain as she held up 
her arms from the low chair upon which she sat. 
Grace knelt down before it and folded her arms 
around her mother. She mistook the little cry and 
by no means understood. She thought her mother’s 
tears were because her heart was too full of gratitude 
to William Hedges. She caressed her, -and said in 
happy little sentences : “ I knew you would be glad, 
dear mamma, and I ’m so glad I told you! You ’ll 
tell papa too, won’t you? It will be such a relief to 
him, and Mr. Hedges will not mind, if only you 
keep from Horace his surprise about the case and 
the little sign. Will you tell papa to do that 
too?” 

“Yes, darling,” said her mother, forcing herself 
to speak calmly. She felt that her own wisdom 
was not enough to prompt her what to say. She 
wanted her husband’s help. So she only kissed her 
daughter again and said, “You had better go now, 
dear, and leave me to dress.” 

Grace, shut in her own room, went to her writing- 
desk and opened a little drawer in it. It contained 
nothing but a bunch of red berries, a bow of ribbon, 
and that fan which was covered with Will Hedges’ 
scribbling, but it was Grace’s holy of holies. She 
played with the fan and thought she ought to have 
told her mother of those other things Mr. Hedges 
had said to her under cover of Rachel’s music. 
The scribbles on the fan were nothing but dates and 


ANOTHER DIFFICULTY. 275 

initials, but they meant a history. Grace read 
them in regular order : — 

“October 27th, West — th Street.” That was 
' when Will and she had first met, at the Stan woods’ 
party. It meant the talk they had under the More- 
land pictures. Her thoughts had never been worth 
anything until then. 

“November 9th, Fourteenth Street.” That was 
at the Mortons’, where the sewing-circle met. “No- 
vember 21st, 14 Henry Street.” The Bixbys had 
the sewing-circle that afternoon. The gentlemen 
came after tea, and they played games and sang. 

“December 14th, 15th, 16th, Nelson Hall.” 
Those meant that lifetime at the fair: the picnic 
meals all together, the violets Mr. Hedges bought 
for Miss Tabitha Snow, the moss basket he was so 
careful and particular about. And ‘Havilah, — his 
face when he leaned over her and whispered, “You 
have saved her!” Grace glanced from the fan to 
the red berries and bow of ribbon and smiled a 
sort of dear amusement at them. He was so funny 
about the companion bow to this one, when he 
begged for it “to remember her cloak by.” That 
was so perfectly ridiculous — what he said about 
the “merest ravelings of its ribbons being worth 
more than Sir Walter Raleigh’s whole cloak, even 
with the original mud and very print of Queen f 
Elizabeth’s foot upon it! ” 

“January 26th, Scipio and Margaret Franklin.” 
Yes, that took in the wedding at Mr. Stanwood’s, 
and the house — no, he was not at the house-warm- 
ing. The dates for March and April were all when 


276 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


he came to see Horace and stopped downstairs for 
little calls. And in May it was the same thing. 
Those May parties away up-town and across the 
river never happened ; it was a pity they had to he 
given up. And last of all, here was the tea the 
other night at Rachel’s and all that he told her 
about the new firm, Hedges & Desborough, and how 
hard he was going to work to make her think well 
of him, and how it was impossible for him to say all 
that he wanted to until he had made more of a name 
for himself. That was the part Grace thought her 
mother ought to know. She had told all about how 
much Mr. Hedges cared for Horace, but she had 
never said a word about how much he cared for her ! 
“Poor mamma!” she thought. “We have done 
nothing of late, Horace and I, but tell her startling 
things; what will she do, if we tell her any more? 
It seems as if the house was full of volcanoes and 
they must break out sometime! If I were only 
strong, like Rachel ! But I ’m nothing but a weak, 
good-for-nothing coward, and I don’t see what good 
I am or what anybody wants of me! ” 

But, with the depressing thought, she remembered 
how very much somebody wanted of her, and thought 
how much more comfortable she would be if her 
mother knew all about it. She was entirely inno- 
cent of the fact that she had as good as told her 
mother all there was to tell. There was no need 
whatever of a showing for Will Hedges’ side of the 
story. There was no end to the story which this 
last date of the fan represented. 

Grace might have read her fan for the next hour, 
if the maid had not come to announce dinner. 


ANOTHER DIFFICULTY. 


277 


Grace would have liked some of her old talks with 
her brother at this time, but his attitude in the 
family made him powerless to help her just now. 
His influence with his father and mother was in 
exile; their differences would have to be adjusted or 
lived down before it could be recalled. Grace was 
conscious of this, and did not want to add to his wor- 
ries by her confidences. Since their sympathy with 
each other on the question of slavery had been 
openly avowed, they had an uncomfortable feeling 
when they happened to be alone together, lest it 
might seem as if they set themselves apart from the 
family interests. So they had stopped their confi- 
dences, and, by tacit agreement, kept themselves in 
the family circle as much as possible. Horace en- 
couraged Eloise to watch for him of an afternoon, 
when he came home, to rifle his pockets for childish 
treasures, and to report to him what interested her 
particularly. At the table he made much use of his 
nickname for her of “Miss Budget,” rallied her for 
news of the day, and, by chaffing with her, avoided 
snags in general conversation. His treatment of 
her was gratifying to them all ; his mother thought 
it an evidence of growing sympathy between them ; 
his father seized upon anything which helped them 
avoid serious talk, and Grace was glad to have 
Eloise’ s scrutiny diverted from herself. She looked 
across the table at Horace and envied him these 
days. He, at least, had made everybody understand 
exactly where he stood. He had thrown his bomb- 
shell and was braving nobly the answering shots. 
Grace wished she could do that. But even to think 
of it made her heart sink. 


278 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


In her acknowledgment of her anti-slavery prin- 
ciples, she had exhausted her power to stem the cur- 
rent of opposition, and she had no courage left to 
tell her parents about Will and how he was going to 
earn the right to claim her. She did not know that 
she had revealed all they needed to know, or that 
they had a bombshell preparing for her. 

In the light of Grace’s self -betrayal Mr. and Mrs. 
Desborough held a series of consultations, and, by 
the end of the next fortnight, announced the result. 
They had decided upon an elaborate plan of travel 
in Europe, which would keep them moving from 
place to place through the summer and find them 
established for the following winter in Paris. Of 
course Horace would not accompany them, and the 
house in New York would be closed during their 
absence. They had often talked of spending a year 
abroad and concluded that now was the time for it. 

Grace thought her heart was going to be broken. 
To her the plan meant exile from everything which 
counted for happiness. She made her feeble at- 
tempts at resistance and pleadings to have the plan 
given up or modified, but without success. 

One morning, after Horace had gone to his office, 
Eloise had started for school, and her parents were 
lingering at the breakfast table, the poor child made 
her confession. She did it in her trembling fash- 
ion, with a sinking heart, but she made it all, with- 
out reserve. It only brought her more misery. 
Her father was angry because Will had spoken to 
her at all, called him dishonorable, and said other 
hard things of him. 


ANOTHER DIFFICULTY. 


279 


“That alone,” he declared, “fixes my resolution 
to postpone our return as long as possible. Or, at 
least, to make it dependent upon an entire change 
of either your feeling or his. His own social popu- 
larity makes it quite possible, — even probable, — 
that his feeling will alter. No, Grace; your reasons 
for not going demand that we adhere to our plan, 
only hastening our departure. But I want to make 
clear to you this fact : that your mother and I gave 
way to you concerning your anti-slavery principles. 
We did not agree with you, but we yielded our judg- 
ment and allowed you an independent course. Now 
it is your turn to yield and our right to claim your 
concurrence in the plans we have made for your wel- 
fare. We expect this of you, whether you are blind 
or not to the wisdom of it.” 

But with those bitter references to Will and that 
speech about his popularity, whatever show of jus- 
tice her father’s argument had, vanished like mist 
from Grace’s reason. A set look, not at all like 
yielding, came into her face. 

“If I must, I can go with you, papa,” she said 
coldly. “But I think you could not stand face to 
face with Mr. Hedges and say those things of him.” 

“ I will certainly give him an opportunity to ex- 
plain himself, but it will be difficult for him to alter 
my opinion of the course he has taken,” Mr. Des- 
borough said stiffly. “I have nothing more to say, 
Grace,” he added, taking up his newspaper and 
closing the interview. 

“This is the only way to treat the matter — with 
decision,” he said, after Grace had left the room, 


280 


RACHEL STANWOOB. 


looking around the edge of the paper at his wife. 
“We were too lenient about all that fair business, 
and it will be necessary to take an opposite course 
now, for a time. A few months of sight-seeing and 
travel will clear her brain and make her forget that 
fellow. Confound him ! If Horace chooses to set 
up a shop with him, we can’t help ourselves, but I 
won't give up Grace. We will draw the line with 
Horace. One reformer in the family is all we can 
stand. I shall give this Hedges to understand that 
there is n’t the slightest hope for him. We’ll get 
Grace on the other side of the water as soon as 
possible, and give her other things to think about. 
Marie, we must indulge her in other directions. 
Buy her everything she wants. Cultivate her taste 
in dress ! Give her whatever she fancies ! ” 

“There is just the point,” said his wife, in a 
dejected tone. “To find the ‘other directions’! 
Dress? I don’t know anything in the direction of 
clothes to interest Grace, except a Quaker uniform. 
It would not take much, Robert, to make her fancy 
adopting that, coal-scuttle bonnet and all. If you ’d 
like to see her dressed like that Mrs. Morton who 
called upon me, I can interest her in clothes, but I 
don’t know any other way to do it.” 


CHAPTER XVII. 


IN THE OFFICE OF THE NEW FIRM. 

When Mr. Desborougli wrote his short demand 
for a personal interview with Mr. William Hedges, 
he did not give the place of meeting quite enough 
consideration. U I can’t invite him to come to me 
to be raked over the coals, so I ’ll have to go to 
him,” was his only thought, as he wrote a hasty 
note asking for an appointment at Will’s office. 
On the following morning, when he reached the 
place, it was rather unpleasant to discover it by 
means of that neat little sign of which Grace had 
told her mother. “Hedges & Desborougli ” was not 
a pleasing combination to Horace’s father. It was 
not quite so fitting, after all, to do his raking over 
the coals in the place where Horace had found a 
new opening. Mr. Desborough could not shirk the 
thought, “When his father fails him, this Hedges 
takes him up.” With the sign to suggest this to 
him, his errand was more difficult than he had an- 
ticipated. 

“All the same, duty is duty,” he thought, while 
Mr. Hedges was inviting him into his private office 
. and giving him a chair. William’s manner was 
that of one gentleman offering courtesy to another, 
not at all that of one who expected to be found 


282 


BACHEL STAN WOOD. 


fault with. Mr. Desborough began, “I am here in 
the interest of my daughter, Mr. Hedges.” 

“I am glad of that, Mr. Desborough,” said Will. 
“I hope I can show you that my interest in her 
is ” — 

“You cannot show me that it is anything but an 
injury to her, sir,” exclaimed Mr. Desborough, with 
decision. “I came to request that you will with- 
draw it from her altogether, — altogether . She has 
told her mother and me of your most ill-judged 
interview with her at the house of Mr. Stanwood. 
No such words should have been spoken by you, Mr. 
Hedges ; you should have sought an interview with 
me, sir, — with me! Your imprudence has caused 
my daughter much distress, and if you value her 
peace of mind, you will retract what you said to 
her, — retract all you have said to her on the sub- 
ject of — of the interest you profess to have in her.” 
Mr. Desborough waited for Will to answer, but he 
did not speak. 

“If you refuse” — began Mr. Desborough and 
waited again. 

“I do refuse,” said Will, not moving, and quietly 
meeting Mr. Desborough ’s eyes. 

“ Then let me tell you that your refusal will bring 
about results which you will deplore and which you 
cannot, for a moment, anticipate,” s|iid Mr. Des- 
borough hotly, and, fairly launched upon his theme, 
he poured out upon Will his anger and reproaches 
in full force. He went back to the time of the fair 
and regretted, at length, his own weakness in yielding 
to his daughter’s wishes. Instead of satisfying her, 


IN THE OFFICE OF THE NEW FIRM. 283 

it had created new and dangerous channels for her 
unwholesome enthusiasm. It was her anti-slavery 
furor which had brought discord and disorganization 
into the family. “Look at this, sir! Look at 
this! ” he exclaimed with a wave of his arm. “The 
very sign upon your door proclaims the division in 
my family. Its interests are irrevocably divided. 
My son has thrown away the opportunity of his life, 
and now, now , Mr. Hedges, you propose to destroy 
the future I had planned for my daughter! ” 

Will, sitting there, motionless and silent, with 
fixed attention to every word, left the field abso- 
lutely to Mr. Desborough. Had that gentleman 
met his steady, resolute eyes, he might have felt 
weaker in his arguments, but he did not look at 
Will and was misled by his silence. He thought 
his own position was so clearly right that there was 
no answer for Will to make. He thought he was 
going to manage him without any difficulty. He had 
not meant to refer to Horace. He was not averse 
to Horace’s going into partnership with Mr. Hedges. 
The name of Hedges was respected in business cir- 
cles and the sacred one of Desborough was not going 
to be injured by it. He certainly wanted somebody 
to extend a helping hand to his son, and, now that 
this European plan had come up, it was comfortable 
to feel that Horace would not be left in the lurch. 
Of course he could not approve of the partnership. 
But he could talk lightly of it. He had said to Mr. 
Graythorn, “Yes, my son has gone into partnership 
with that young Hedges, and, while I don’t like it, 
I don’t wholly object. Hedges hasn’t anything in 


284 


RACHEL STANWOOD. 


him hut anti-slavery gunpowder, hut Horace has a 
liking for that sort of thing just now, and may he a 
few explosions are what he needs for the restoration 
of his common sense.” So, having taken this atti- 
tude, he had meant to leave out altogether, on the 
present occasion, any reference to the young firm of 
Hedges & Desborough, but the making out of his 
case had brought it in naturally, and now he coaxed 
up all the points he could think of in connection 
with it. “Yes, he would show this hot-blooded 
young fellow just what he was doing; here was the 
opportunity, and it was no more than his duty.” 
He expected resentment and would rather have pre- 
ferred it. But the young man had nothing to say. 
He had not answered a single one of his charges. 
After an instant, Mr. Desborough went on, with 
fresh heat, “You are not satisfied with the cutting 
off of a future for my son, — for I attribute his 
course mainly to your personal influence, — you are 
not satisfied with dragging him down to the bottom 
of the heap with” — He was going to say “with 
yourself,” but he looked at Will just then and 
stopped. Nobody could look at the strong lines on 
Will’s face and think of him at the bottom of any 
heap. 

What a listener Will was! Was he never going 
to speak? As Mr. Desborough paused, Will re- 
called him by the words, “You were saying” — 

“That you are not satisfied with — with all this,” 
said Mr. Desborough, with a sweeping gesture as if 
“all this” meant a world of sins, “but you must 
stand between my daughter and her future! She 


IN THE OFFICE OF THE NEW FIRM. 285 

must shut her eyes to all that the world offers her ; 
she must be blind and deaf to the hopes of her par- 
ents. She must throw away their hopes, their am- 
bition, their plans, — all that they have struggled 
for since she was born, and live upon your hopes, 
and your plans! You ask her to store up those as 
priceless treasures. You claim to have an interest 
in her, — let me tell you that you stand in the way 
of her interests. You do not speak. I think it is 
because any defense of your course is impossible. 
But you have made but one course advisable for us, 
and that is to take our daughter out of your reach. 
I have come this morning to tell you that we shall 
sail for Europe in a few days.” Mr. Desborough 
gave Will a chance to exclaim at this, but there was 
not a sound. Mr. Desborough said, — 

“Apparently you have been informed of our in- 
tention ; your partnership is, no doubt, a source of 
information. I am not sorry, as perhaps you are 
better prepared to do what I have come to ask, — 
to demand of you.” 

“What have you come to demand?” asked Will, 
in a strange voice. 

Mr. Desborough answered, “That you will re- 
lease my daughter from every thought of you as her 
lover. That you will allow her to go away with ab- 
solutely no expectation that, in such a character, 
your interest will follow her, or that, upon her re- 
turn, she will see it restored. Will you consent to 
do this?” 

“I will not,” said Will, in the same strained 
voice. 


286 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


“As her father, I demand it of you,” said Mr. 
Desborough rising. 

“As her lover I refuse it,” said Will, rising also 
and clasping his hand firmly on the back of his 
chair. 

“You speak without principle, sir! You ignore 
the rights of a father,” said Mr. Desborough, with 
heat. 

“I speak with the highest principle, and I have 
given you more than the rights of a father, — I 
have remembered that you are her father,” said 
Will steadily. 

“Your principle is one impossible to understand,” 
said Mr. Desborough. But he caught sight of 
something which made him stop. He was looking 
at Will now, and saw at last, in his pallor, his un- 
flinching eyes, and the lines of his mouth, that his 
self-control was masterly, and that behind it was a 
reserve power he had not suspected. 

“I think Miss Desborough will understand,” said 
Will. 

Mr. Desborough exclaimed, “ She will understand 
more than you count upon, Mr. Hedges ! She will 
understand that, whatever position you choose to 
maintain, any engagement between her and you is 
impossible; that it will not be recognized by her 
family. Knowing this, your persistence can only 
be a source of unhappiness to her. I tell you, Mr. 
Hedges” — Mr. Desborough’s tone grew less per- 
emptory and more argumentative here ; he repeated, 
in almost a pleading voice: “I tell you I am posi- 
tive that this feeling of my daughter’s for you is a 


IN THE OFFICE OF THE NEW FIRM. 287 

temporary one, a fancy, a delusion. If you test it 
by such a separation as I desire, by allowing her to 
go away under the supposition that your judgment 
concurs with mine ; that you yield to ” — 

“Stop there , Mr. Desborough! ” said Will, in his 
own full, strong voice. “You have gone too far, 
sir. I have the right to demand that you hear me 
now!” 

Mr. Desborough folded his arms and said stiffly : 
“Very well, sir, what have you to say?” 

“What I have to say will not affect you; your 
manner convinces me of that,” said Will. “But it 
is necessary for me to speak. You have come here 
because you have learned that I love your daughter ; 
because I have told her that, with all the power God 
has given me, I will try to earn the right to live for 
her, the right to ask her to be my wife. You have 
made no attempt to find out what I am, what quali- 
ties or ability I possess. You have not asked what 
I require of myself to make me worthy of your 
daughter’s hand. You come to tell me simply that 
I shall not have it, that you will prevent me from 
winning it. You have come, knowing that your 
daughter loves me, — no matter about your belief 
that her feeling is transient; I do not care for that. 
Believing that she loves me now, you come to de- 
mand of me that I will side with you in the work of 
destroying that love by making myself unworthy of 
it! You wish me to dishonor it, to make myself 
false to it, that she may have reason to despise me ! 
I have the right to ask what you have discovered in 
my character which allows you to think me capable 
of this? ” 


288 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


“I make no attack upon your character, Mr. 
Hedges,” said Mr. Desborough coldly. “I wish 
only to show you that marriage between yourself 
and my daughter is not to be thought of, and to 
break the connection between you now, before it is 
too late. But I see that it will be useless for us to 
talk any longer. My effort has been fruitless, and 
without further discussion I will pursue the course 
upon which I have determined. Meanwhile, I re- 
quest that you will not see her. I must ask 
you” — 

“Not until I say something more to you, sir,” 
said Will resolutely. “You have made many 
charges against me which it would be idle for me to 
answer. I shall not try to do so. Time will an- 
swer them for me, perhaps, and when it does, I ” — 
Will stopped with sudden emotion. He moved 
toward the door and made a gesture to detain Mr. 
Desborough from going out. In another moment 
he had himself under control, and his deep, strong 
voice did not fail him while he said : — 

“You have called my interest in your daughter 
an injury to her. It cannot be so while her hand 
points to the standard for which I aim. To reach 
that, I exact more of myself than any other man 
could exact of me. You are going to take her away 
and put half the world between us. It will make 
no difference. I will work the harder to win the 
right to claim her, and when I do, the world cannot 
separate us. One other word and I have done, Mr. 
Desborough. Since that separation must be, I will 
do nothing to make it harder for — for her. That 


IN THE OFFICE OF THE NEW FIRM. 289 

is all I will promise and” — he stood very erect as 
he looked at Mr. Desborough and said, “You are 
her father — I will try to forget your injustice.” 

“ I would like what I have said to be remembered, 
sir, not forgotten,” said Mr. Desborough angrily, 
and he went away more troubled, far, than he had 
been when he came. This young man who was to 
be so easily bidden, and forbidden, was not to be 
set aside without trouble. The aspect of the case 
from each new point of view, seemed more difficult. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


ELOISE MEDDLES AT THE RIGHT MOMENT. 

In the crisis of affairs at home Horace had, of 
course, learned how matters stood between his sister 
Grace and his partner. He had made a brave fight 
for them and done what he could to alter the deci- 
sion of his parents, but his efforts could not, under 
the circumstances, prove otherwise than futile. 

He kept as much as possible out of Grace’s way. 
Once, meeting him in the library, she had thrown 
herself into his arms and broken out with a violent 
fit of sobbing. When with difficulty he had quieted 
her, she could not talk to him. He was the one 
person in the house before whom her self-control 
broke down. Seeing this, he hastened his own ar- 
rangements, and moved himself and his belongings 
to the house in which Will Hedges lived, where he 
had secured a room. He made daily visits home, 
and took what charge was permitted him of the prep- 
arations for the breaking up. He always asked for 
Grace, but made no resistance to his mother’s little 
methods of keeping her out of sight as much as pos- 
sible. 

“You know she can’t help crying when she is 
with you, and really she gets along very well when 
you are away,” Mrs. Desborougli said. 


ELOISE MEDDLES AT THE RIGHT MOMENT. 291 

Horace knew better. He knew that Grace’s 
power of resistance was exhausted, that was all. It 
was not in her to make a very good fight. She had 
done her best. The contest was over and lost, and 
now there was nothing for her but submission. 

It was a pitiful household. Even Eloise, who 
had been beside herself with happiness at the pros- 
pect of travel, sight-seeing and shopping, was be- 
ginning to ferret out a dark side of the picture. 
She had discovered that the family talks from which 
she was excluded were not all about stupid business 
plans, and how Horace was going to live as a bach- 
elor, but that something was up which did not seem 
to suit anybody. She watched for available open- 
ings in conversation and struck in, with her usual 
determination to know as much as anybody, but, 
for the first time in her life, she was snubbed with a 
decision and efficacy which cut off at the outset her 
search for knowledge, and left her ignorant as to 
the real nature of the trouble. All she gathered 
was that Grace was not well and that the trip to 
Europe was to be for her benefit. Eloise ’s efforts 
to learn anything more were pitilessly nipped in the 
bud, and she was set aside and disposed of as an 
article not in requisition at this time. 

“That ’s the way they all do, Thomas,” she said 
one afternoon, coming out of the library in disgust 
and meeting the waiter at the foot of the stairs. 
“They let me stay with them all the time they are 
just tiresome, but the minute they begin to say 
anything I want to hear, they pack me off ! ” For 
want of better entertainment she followed Thomas 


292 


RACHEL STANWOOB. 


into the butler’s pantry and watched him pack the 
silver. 

Eloise had no imagination to fall back upon ; her 
mind was a practical one, and had little to contrib- 
ute in the way of entertainment. When she played 
with Betty Stanwood, she lost patience with Betty 
for calling things by the wrong names. She de- 
spised “Benjamin Bump,” “Timothy Tickleboy,” 
and the family of “Timberkins; ” they were to her 
dead sticks and lumber, and Betty was silly and 
stupid to call them anything else. Had Betty been 
in Eloise ’s place this afternoon, she would have 
created out of the pieces of silver a whole raft of 
companions, but to Eloise the forks were forks, and 
the spoons spoons, and they were intolerably monoto- 
nous. For a while she helped Thomas roll them, 
one by one, in strips of tissue paper, but the occu- 
pation was too useful to interest her long. She 
asked Thomas all the questions she could think of, 
but his biography was dull. Everybody was dull. 
She decided to go upstairs and see if Grace would 
not let her “fix up,” by which she meant haul over 
the drawers where she kept her ribbons, and laces, 
and jewelry. 

She was just about to start when a ring of the 
front door bell broke the monotony of the hour, and 
while Thomas went to answei it, Eloise fitted her 
nose into the crack of the pantry door to learn who 
had rung. She heard Thomas say, “Miss Desbor- 
ough ain’t disposed and she ’s got so many trunks 
to pack that she can’t see nobody, sir, till she comes 
back from Europe.” 


ELOISE MEDDLES AT THE EIGHT MOMENT. 293 

Eloise slid the door along a little farther and rec* 
ognized Mr. William Hedges. 

“Oh, Thomas, what a dreadful story! ’’she ex- 
claimed, springing out of the pantry and running to 
admit Will herself into the house. Taking posses- 
sion of the front door, she slung it open all the way, 
so that it practically pinned Thomas back against 
the wall. She glared at him over her shoulder and 
scolded, “You know well enough that Henriette has 
to pack everything, and Gracie would be as mad 
as fury, if she heard you say such a thing to Mr. 
Hedges! Come into the parlor, Mr. Hedges, and 
I ’ll call Gracie down, because she would not like it 
a single bit if we got off to Europe and she never 
said good-by to you.” And, determined to show 
Thomas the full iniquity of his misrepresentations, 
Eloise snatched the bunch of violets from Will’s 
hand and said, “/’ll take these flowers to Gracie, 
Mr. Hedges. Thomas, you can go back to your 
work.” 

And so saying she ran upstairs to kill two birds 
with one stone, — tell Grace that Mr. Hedges was 
waiting to see her, and get permission to ransack 
the attractive things in her bureau drawers. 

Thomas went back to the pantry, with indigna- 
tion which was not altogether unrighteous. In say- 
ing that Miss Desborough was indisposed he was 
simply obeying his mistress’s orders; his statement 
concerning the trunks was an addition of his own 
because he was tired of answering the frequent in- 
quiries of Mr. Hedges. 

William Hedges had resolved that he would see 


294 


BACHEL STANWOOD. 


Grace before she went away, but, if it was a pos- 
sible thing, he meant to see her, openly, in her 
father’s house. After two or three failures, he de- 
cided that he was not going to be admitted, but he 
persisted, in the hope that some fortunate accident 
might aid him. He might have contrived a dozen 
secret meetings with Grace, but he did not mean to 
resort to one, unless driven to the extremity. He 
meant just what he said when he told Mr. Desbor- 
ough that he would not make the situation harder 
than it already was for Grace, and, to avoid that, 
he wanted to keep her course clear and straight with 
her parents if he could. The accident he had hoped 
for had come just in time. The meddlesome little 
Eloise, for once, had meddled at the right moment. 
Will did not know but that she would announce him 
to her parents also, but he was ready to meet them 
if they came. He was going to plead to be allowed 
to see Grace, to give them his word of honor that 
his interview with her should help reconcile her 
to parting with him — for a time. He would even 
agree not to write to her, and to let her go away 
without binding her by promises. And then, if it 
was proved that his and Grace’s love for each other 
was fixed and unchangeable, Mr. and Mrs. Desbor- 
ough would wish to reunite them. He would stand 
before them so clear and right in the course he 
meant to take, that they could not help seeing the 
justice of it, or fail to admit into the bond that one 
little mighty “if” which would make Grace bear up 
through all the long separation. Oh, he was going 
to say noble things, grand things to them. He had 


ELOISE MEDDLES AT THE BIGHT MOMENT. 295 

held on to himself when he had seen Mr. Desbor- 
ough ; he had not let himself out. Day and night, 
ever since, he had thought of the things he ought to 
have said then ; it was not fair to Mr. Desborough 
to expect from him any kind of understanding from 
such an interview. He had said just the wrong 
things then ; now he was ready to say the right ones. 
Now — 

The door opened, there was the rustle of a soft 
gown, and Grace, with a quick, appealing move- 
ment, threw herself into his arms. And, instead of 
all his brave intention to wait and win her parents’ 
consent, Will was holding her as if she were his 
own now, for life! All question of winning was 
done with forever. 

“Poor little girl! Poor little girl!” he said, 
after a minute, his hand keeping her head on his 
breast, while he made her sit down with him on the 
sofa. She was trembling and sobbing violently. 

“Cry it all out there, darling,” Will whispered. 
“Leave the heartache there, if you can. I want it 
all to keep, while you are away. If I cannot help 
you bear your pain, my love counts for nothing.” 

Presently she looked up at him with a fixed ex- 
pression he had never seen upon her face. Her 
trembling had ceased, but she was very white while 
she said with decision : “If they keep me away from 
you a lifetime, I cannot change. You will never 
believe anything else, will you?” 

“Never ! ” said Will, looking into her eyes. “ And 
you believe the same of me?” 

“Yes, I do,” Grace said firmly. 


296 


RACHEL STANWOOD. 


“Why then, where is all the pain? ” asked Will 
almost brightly. “What is it all about? No, don’t 
move your head for a minute. Look at me just 
so, while I say something I want you to remember. 
We trust each other, and that is all we need to 
know.” 

“And it shall not be a lifetime, or even a great 
part of a lifetime,” he insisted presently, when he 
knew that he must go. 

“I am going to live my best for you, and you 
must promise me to do the same. Will you? 
Look up again,” he whispered, bending over her. 
“Give me one kiss, my darling, and say you will.” 

“I will,” she said softly, and kissed him. 

How on earth were they to do any better? They 
had braced each other up to bear as much sacrifice 
as anybody had a right to ask, — as much as they 
were capable of bearing. Mother Nature has some- 
thing to say about these things. 

And the parents thought they were doing the 
wisest thing for their daughter’s happiness. They 
took her away in the expectation that Europe was 
going to cure her of her fancy for Mr. William 
Hedges, her anti-slavery hobbies, and everything 
else that was unwholesome and undesirable. 


CHAPTER XIX. 


A VIOLIN, AND SHADOWS. 

Horace Desborough had taken a room in the 
house where William Hedges lived. It was in 
the middle of a long row of red brick three -story 
houses, with green blinds, narrow little areas two 
steps deep, and high doorsteps. The row extended 
from Second Avenue nearly to the Bowery, where it 
ended against three one-story shops, and, at the 
corner, a police station. Along the opposite side 
of the street was a row of private stables belonging 
to the modestly stylish houses in the street above. 
Horace Desborough occupied the large back room 
and hall bedroom on the second floor, and William 
Hedges occupied the corresponding rooms on the 
floor above. 

One evening in the latter part of September, 
Horace went upstairs to visit his friend. It was a 
warm evening, and Will was sitting, hugging one 
knee, on one of the wide window-seats. 

“Don’t light up,” said Horace, as Will rose and 
struck a match. “There is something novel and 
interesting in this ghostliness. Go back to your 
window; I ’ll take the other one.” 

“All right,” said Will. “Light a cigar, if you 
have one about you. I suppose I ’m inhospitable 


298 


RACHEL STANWOOD. 


not to have any to offer a fellow, hut, to tell the 
truth, I never thought of it before.” 

“It’s more considerate of you to be without,” 
said Horace, settling himself in his window and 
lighting one from his case. “Not being a smoker, 
you could not select them satisfactorily; you’d be 
cheated and I should have to smoke poison and make 
believe I liked it. By Jupiter, this is ghostly! ” he 
exclaimed, looking out of the window. 4 

The full moon was just rising over the chimneys 
along Second Avenue and shone across a large 
graveyard in the centre of the square. A dark 
stone wall about fifteen feet high surrounded the 
cemetery, and lent itself on its four sides for the 
house yards to back up against. Here and there 
vines climbed from the graves, between the marble 
tablets built in at regular distances from one an- 
other along the inner surface of the walls. Some- 
times the vines reached and covered the wall-top, 
concealing a part of it, and, in a few places, they 
met other vines which climbed up from the yards, 
and they became hopelessly entangled, as each 
struggled to get over the wall into the other’s do- 
main. 

As the moon rose higher, its light shone between 
the trees and shrubbery upon the white slabs. 

“They look like ghostly sentinels,” Horace said, 
after watching them a while. 

“What looks like what ? ” asked Will. His mind 
was back with the steamer which had carried Grace 
away. The graveyard was too familiar to him to 
excite any particular interest or sentiment. He 


A VIOLIN , AND SHADOWS. 299 

asked his question idly and sent his mind back 
again directly where it wanted to be. 

“Those slabs, set in the wall oyer the vaults,’’ 
said Horace, who had not seen the place before by 
moonlight. “I say they look like grim sentinels. 
If they only had something to guard, it would be 
an improvement. A few tombstones, the merest 
sprinkle of monuments, would be hilarious compared 
with this barren emptiness. Those underground 
vaults seem so unsocial, so unneighborly. Perhaps 
the occupants come out of an evening and make it 
up to one another. If they do, I hope they won’t 
take to soaring and come upon us, up here, una- 
wares! I wonder if they object to tobacco smoke! ” 

“Who object?” asked Will, making an effort 
and coming back to his surroundings. 

“Some enterprising ghost or frisky hobgoblin 
who might leave one of the vaults down there and 
come up to gossip with us. I wondered if he ’d 
object to tobacco, and what would be the effect of 
a puff of smoke into his — through his vacuum.” 
Horace was grimly fascinated by his train of 
thought. 

“Speak respectful^ of the inhabitants of these 
tombs, old fellow,” said Will. “And if they ap- 
pear, take off your hat. They come from genuine 
old Knickerbocker nobility and will be stately 
ghosts, I assure you.” 

“Ah, that’s comforting,” said Horace. “If I 
should see one, it would be interesting to spot him. 
I won’t mind about my cigar then; these fellows 
will recognize it as a genuine Habana, and will re- 


800 


RACHEL STANWOOD. 


gard its ashes as equivalent to a courtesy on my 
part.” He knocked his cigar ashes into space and 
peered idly down into the yards. There was a 
slight disturbance of some kind in the yard next 
door, in the further corner, by the cemetery wall, 
where the vines were thickest. It was over in an 
instant; a cat, probably, returning from a stroll 
along the smooth wall-top, Horace thought. 

It was growing late. The lights in the windows 
of the houses in the next street were put out grad- 
ually, and somebody who had been playing “The 
Maiden’s Prayer” indefatigably, upon a piano 
worthy of a better cause, stopped. 

The other occupants of the house which the young 
men were in settled for the night, and excepting an 
occasional sound of blinds being closed and of gen- 
eral shutting up, there was soon nothing to be heard 
but the hum of some voices in conversation in a 
room next door. For a long time the young men 
were silent. They were purposely avoiding the only 
subject which interested them. Horace rose, pre- 
paratory to leaving, and stood for a minute with his 
hands in his pockets, looking at the graveyard. 

“It is strangely quiet, even for the hour, consid- 
ering we are in a great city,” he observed. 

“Yes,” said Will, rising and joining him. “The 
ghosts are decorous, you see; we are Quakers and 
next door to Quakers, and in the house beyond, — 
Dr. Brenton’s, — they speak principally the silent 
language, as they call it. Mrs. Brenton is a deaf 
mute.” 

“I have heard of her,” said Horace. “Miss 


A VIOLIN, AND SHADOWS. 


301 


Stanwood says the language, as she speaks it, is 
most expressive. I heard somebody else call it 
‘the language of the heart,’ but that’s sentimen- 
tal.” 

“That describes it imperfectly,” said Will, “but 
it isn’t over- sentimental, either. I tell you, Des- 
borough, it takes you mighty near heaven to see 
the children in there put their prayers into signs. 
I ’m intimate there, and Mrs. Brenton lets me into 
the nursery sometimes. When they get to going, 
there ’s a good deal of heart in the language, after 
all.” 

It was cheerful to hear Will talk about anything, 
he had been so silent. Horace encouraged him, 
professing curiosity concerning the language of 
mutes. 

“It ’s as good as a play,” Will went on, “to see 
the three-year-old make the sign of the eagle, tweak- 
ing her nose for the beak and flapping her arms for 
the wings. Her language is something beside heart, 
— it is unmitigated mischief.” 

“I have heard of Mrs. Brenton conversing with 
two people at once,” said Horace. 

“Yes, and then it ’s witchcraft,” said Will. 

“ W ell, there are plenty of tongues that hang in 
the middle, but” — He stopped to lean forward 
and see again if there was anything moving in the 
corner of the yard next door. The shadows were 
too black to see. He watched them for a moment, 
his curiosity awakening. As he drew back, Will 
was saying, “advantage over all tongues, native and 
foreign.” 


802 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


“Yes,” said Horace, his mind going back to a 
picture of Mrs. Brenton talking to two people at 
once. “A case where, literally, the left hand does 
not know what the ‘right hand doeth.’” A long 
note from a violin almost under the window stopped 
him. 

“Ah! ” exclaimed Will, in a tone of satisfaction. 
“You can’t go now, — sit down again and let’s 
have it together. We need n’t talk about languages 
of the heart, or witchcraft either; we ’ll hear both.” 
The violin notes sounded intervals, as it was being 
tuned, while Will said, “That is Ole Bull’s violin; 
he is in Aunt Maria’s parlor. You may as well 
settle down for another hour, Desborough. This is 
the first night of the regular season; we shall hear 
lots of the best music from these windows, which are 
better than any private boxes at the Tabernacle.” 

“There’s a mark of deference I have never ob- 
served before,” said Horace, drawing in from the 
window out of which he had been leaning half his 
length. “There was the buzz of a good number of 
voices in that room before Ole Bull began to tune 
his instrument, but every one hushed with the first 
note. It is so at the concerts, too; the audience 
listens even to the tuning, unwilling to lose a sound. 
I am glad it is warm enough for Mrs. Child to leave 
the windows open.” 

“If the weather admits of it at all, she always 
lowers the one this way a little, in consideration for 
me. I ’ve sat here with my overcoat and hat on 
many a time.” 

The pianist, making ready for an accompaniment, 


A VIOLIN , AND SHADOWS. 


303 


struck a few chords vigorously and trifled skillfully 
a moment with arpeggios. 

“Now,” said Will, “we are in for a treat. And 
— yes — we are to begin with witchcraft. Here 
comes ‘The Carnival of Venice,’ and we are going 
to have all that is weird and uncanny out of Pan- 
demonium. But don’t hold the population of this 
graveyard responsible! They are shutting them- 
selves up in their tombs, with offended dignity. 
Silly of them! Ole Bull is a sorcerer, and can 
charm them out again any minute.” 

Will remained standing at Horace’s window while 
“The Carnival,” with all its antics, sang, danced, 
laughed, cried, scolded, and shrieked. With its 
closing notes the listeners next door and the two 
young men at their window broke, simultaneously, 
into an answering laugh. 

“Walpurgis Night!” said Horace. “Witches 
and broomsticks! Imps and forked lightning! I 
believe the man is intimate with ’em all. Odd to 
think of those incantations going on over the heads 
of the quiet old Quaker couple downstairs! ” 

“Father and Mother Holly are guardian angels,” 
said Will. “Their presence in the house is protec- 
tion against the possible enchantments of Ole Bull’s 
mischievous spirits.” 

“He plays with supernatural advantages,” said 
Horace. “From what Grace says, I should call 
Mrs. Child’s room enchanted.” And he whistled 
delicately the carnival air, while Will, settling in 
an armchair beside him, was saying, “Yes, that will 
work a quieter charm later on, if you notice.” 


804 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


It was impossible to get rid of “The Carnival” 
immediately. There was an interval of talk in Mrs. 
Child’s room and another gay, fantastic tune from 
the violin. Will and Horace listened silently, with 
nothing to say to each other. Then all was quiet 
next door for so long a time that it seemed as if the 
music were done with for the night. But presently, 
out of perfect stillness, Schubert’s “Ave Maria” 
floated into the night and drove the mind of Will 
Hedges away out to sea. What was Grace doing? 
Was she asleep? Ave Maria! Will’s soul fol- 
lowed, with the notes of the violin, a wordless prayer 
for Grace, so fervently that he did not hear Hor- 
ace’s exclamation at the end of the song, or notice 
just where the violin went into “The Last Rose of 
Summer,” or from that into “John Anderson.” 
And the tenderness of the wonderful instrument 
reached its height with “John Anderson,” for it 
was the player’s fancy to call down a benediction 
with it upon “Father and Mother Holly.” Will 
had meant to tell Horace how Ole Bull dedicated 
his playing of that song to them. But his mind had 
got upon Grace and the music all meant her to him, 
nothing else. It was Schubert’s “ Wanderer ” — but 
Will did not know it — which started him upon a 
mournful train of thought. “ Grace was torn away 
from him. He had let her go without fighting for 
her, as he might have done. To let her be taken 
away so was to play with her happiness, her peace. 
And now it was too late to help it ! He knew her 
heart ; she could not change to him, and this parting 
meant desolation. Something fell upon his hand. 


A VIOLIN , AND SHADOWS. 


305 


Tears ? Had he been crying ? He started, wonder- 
ing if Horace could have seen him. He had forgotten 
Horace’s very existence. It was of no consequence, 
for Horace had apparently forgotten him, also, and 
was leaning over, looking down into the graveyard 
again. He could not keep his eyes away from it. 

The violin had stopped. When? Will had not 
noticed. He knew by the quiet and the darkness 
of Mrs. Child’s window that her company had gone. 
The loneliness and dreariness of night settled down 
to stay. A light breeze sprung up and was swaying 
the branches in the cemetery. It swept through 
the trees with a pleasant sound, beginning off at the 
farther end, and, coming with a gentle rush down 
to a large pine-tree opposite the house, made its 
loudest swell there and then trailed itself away, 
along the vines on the wall-top, and died. After a 
moment or two it came again and Will listened, 
trying to make it into a rhythm, like waves rolling 
in upon a beach. When the vines rattled it was 
the foam dashing against — not the beach, but the 
side of a vessel which was ploughing its way through 
the ocean and carrying with it all that was worth 
living for. The breeze came like a moan, and, at 
its swell in the big tree, rose to a pitiful cry which 
could get no answer. It sobbed itself away again, 
— away, almost into stillness, and then changed 
once more into sobs and grew — 

Will started suddenly as if he had received a 
shock. 

“What is it?” he exclaimed. He spoke softly, 
but his voice, in the stillness, seemed loud. 


806 


BACHEL STARWOOD. 


Horace had touched him and was pointing down 
to the yard below. 

“Hush!” he whispered. “Watch that corner, 
next door ! Move this way, out of the moonlight. 
I saw a head there a moment ago. I believe a 
burglar is hiding under — There ! ” 

There was a movement and rustle among the 
vines, and the head and shoulders of some one ap- 
peared over the shadows. For only a second. 

A dark shape laid itself on the tangle of vines 
and dropped on the other side of the wall. There 
was a scramble among some bushes and the sound of 
fleeing feet. 

“What shall we do? Alarm the police?” asked 
Horace. 

It took Will an instant or two to fully awake 
from his dreaming and get his mind to work practi- 
cally. Then he said, “There is only one exit to the 
cemetery, and that is a difficult one, on Second 
Avenue. Two high gates to climb, with a carriage 
way between.” 

“Come on, old fellow,” said Horace, eager for an 
adventure. “We ’re in for a masquerade! ” 

They stole cautiously out of the house and hurried 
around the corner to the exit which Will had de- 
scribed. They peered between the bars of the high 
iron gate, but saw no one. The street seemed de- 
serted. Far down town the lights of a pair of coach 
lanterns were moving slowly along and the rumble 
of a heavy wagon sounded in the distance. Will 
drew Horace into the shadow of an undertaker’s shop 
door, next the gate. “Let ’s watch here,” he said. 


A VIOLIN, AND SHADOWS . 


807 


They had scarcely stationed themselves when two 
men turned the corner of the street, stood for a 
moment and looked about them in every direction, 
and walked slowly by. As they came within hear- 
ing one was saying, “She says the Brooklyn nig- 
ger’s is the most likely place, and she is deuced 
clever.” The other said, “And she has been to the 
nigger’s and could show us the spot before” — 

Will tried to hear more, but the men passed 
along and, turning the next corner, disappeared. 

“Accomplices?” asked Horace. 

“ No — may be. Listen ! ” said W ill. They could 
hear nothing but the roll of the coach wheels coming 
nearer. 

“Whoever the burglar is, I’m thinking he has 
decided to stay a while in the graveyard,” said Hor- 
ace. “If the ghosts there would be practical and 
energetic enough to hold on to him for us, I ’d be a 
convert to spiritualism. Could he have got away 
before we reached here?” 

“Did you hear what those men said?” asked 
Will. 

“Yes,” said Horace. “What do you suppose 
they meant?” 

“Wish I knew,” said Will. “ Come look 
through the gate again; nobody is in sight.” 

There was nothing to see. The moon could not 
edge a ray of light into the carriage way. 

“Shall I strike a match?” asked Horace. 

“Yes; if any one sees, they ’ll think you ’re light- 
ing a cigar,” said Will. 

Horace put two matches together, to make the 


808 


RACHEL STANWOOD . 


flame larger. By its light they perceived a rope 
hanging from the gate spikes. Examining it, they 
found that it was curiously knotted into loops. 
Horace used the loops as a ladder and climbed over 
into the driveway. 

“Hedges, the plot thickens,” he whispered be- 
tween the bars. This is a regularly contrived 
means of escape. The villain has been making his 
ladder during the evening, in that dark corner of 
your neighbor’s yard. I wouldn’t give a penny 
for the ghosts.” 

“Examine the big door at the other end,” said 
Will. “Feel — don’t strike a match this time; no- 
body will suspect you of getting in there for a 
smoke! ” 

“By Jove!” said Will, when Horace passed a 
tangled bunch of rope through the bars to him. 
“Knotted in the same way; he ’s a clever one.” 

“I ’ve treed him now, unless he got away too soon 
for us,” Horace said, and climbed back into the 
street. 

A shadow moved within a few paces of them, and 
a policeman walked lazily up to where they stood 
and asked what they were going to do with those 
ropes. In a moment they knew that he had been 
watching them, and Horace explained. Will tried 
to turn the officer’s mind on the suspicion of some 
one who had had ample time to escape. 

“’T ain’t loikely it’s a thafe a-toll,” said the 
watchman, in a surly tone, peering through the bars 
and throwing the light from his lantern into the 
carriage way. “It ’s a dull one that ’d be runnin’ 


A VIOLIN , AND SHADOWS . 


309 


such chances for the sake of what he ’d he foinding 
in the house yez are afther designa-ting. There ’s 
nivver the fool amongst the thaves that don’t know 
there ’d he nothin’ to shtale in the house of a 
Quaker, an’ the Shtates Prison to risk for it. An’ 
it ’s no fool of a rogue that ’d make these here con- 
vaniences,” shaking the ropes, u an’ not be con- 
thrivin’ enough to take ’em along a ways wid him, 
instid of lavin’ ’em behint for jist the ivvydence the 
detictives ’ll be wantin’.” 

“In heaven’s name, who could it be but a thief?” 
asked Will impatiently. “And what’s the use of 
evidence when he has had time to get to the Bat- 
tery? ” 

“An’ may be yez might give a bit more infarma- 
tion about him, if yez were incloined that wa-ay ! ” 
said the officer insolently. 

“We may incline to do something else, if you ’re 
not careful,” said Horace indignantly, and would 
have said more if Will had not nudged him. 

“It’s me advice that yez take yer incloinations 
whome wid yez, an’ not be givin’ me anny of yer 
divvel’s blackguard impartinence, for me to put wid 
me tistymony in the court, whin 1 ’m called oop to 
rela-ate the fax about two dacent gintlemen cloimb- 
ing the gate of the graveyarrud, wid the ropes in 
their han’s, as familiar as if they ’d been aidin’ in 
an elopement an’ ” — 

He straightened himself up suddenly and with a 
quick gesture of command, motioned Will and Hor- 
ace to be silent. His attention was fixed upon the 
corner of the next cross-street over opposite. 


310 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


Four young men turned it, walking abreast, with 
their arms interlinked, keeping step with “The 
Low -backed Car,” which they were whistling. 
They had gone far enough on their way down Sec- 
ond Avenue for their steps and whistling to grow 
faint in the distance, when a figure suddenly darted 
across the corner and sped like a deer into the cross- 
street and down toward the river. Will’s motion 
to follow was cut short by the restraining hold of 
the officer. 

“Stay here!” said the watchman, flinging the 
ropes over into the cemetery driveway and rushing 
away in pursuit of the person running. 

His order was idle, of course, for Horace and 
Will were off like the wind. Lighter of foot, more 
fleet, and younger, they overtook and passed the 
watchman in no time. Will took the lead, and they 
ran through Second Street, down First Avenue, 
across Bond and Bleecker, through Houston, down 
Avenue A, as if they were themselves the pursued. 
From one point or another they were joined by 
others, so that before long an indefinite number of 
men had joined them, each running because the 
others did, and no one, excepting William Hedges, 
knowing what for. The officer was following, occa- 
sionally giving signals for other watchmen, by ring- 
ing his club upon the pavement, but he had lost 
track of the object of his chase. 

Presently Will, having gone as far as his purpose 
required, slackened his speed, allowing the runners 
to pass him. Horace thought Will was giving up 
the chase, but suddenly, in the neighborhood of 


A VIOLIN, AND SHADOWS. 


311 


Grand Street, lie wheeled around and with all his 
speed ran in the direction of up town. Back, across 
Houston, Bleecker, and Bond, he turned at First 
Street and ran eastward. At Avenue C he slowed 
again and stopped, dropping upon the doorstep of a 
tenement house to recover breath. Horace leaned 
against the railing, panting and blowing. For a mo- 
ment neither of them could speak, but Will kept his 
eyes in the direction of the river. Horace pointed 
south and panted, “They all went that way.” 

“I know — wait! We’re — wasting time,” 
gasped Will. 

“ Of — course we are — we — have n’t been — do- 
ing — anything else,” Horace panted. Will got up 
and leaned against a lamp-post, still looking toward 
the river. 

“What did we run for, anyway?” Horace asked, 
as they walked eastward, and, a sense of the absurd- 
ity striking him, he broke into peals of laughter. 
“Such a ridiculous chase!” he exclaimed between 
the peals. “Ha! ha! ha! Hedges & Desborough, 
in a panic to get back their neighbor’s spoons, — 
ha! ha! rush hopelessly after the thief and leave 
their neighbor’s premises unprotected! Their back 
door is probably open, you know, and their kitchen 
full of burglars this very minute. Don’t you think 
it would serve our neighbors’ interests as well, part- 
ner, if we went back and protected the remaining 
property, to say nothing of their lives?” 

But Will did not seem to hear what Horace was 
talking about. “Look ahead! You watch the 
right side and I ’ll watch the left of the next block,” 
he said. 


312 


RACHEL STANWOOD. 


“All right!” said Horace. “I will hold on to 
my part in the drama as long as it entertains you, 
old chap. I ’d like to understand my role a little 
better, though; are we to make a rush and collar 
the villain, when we overtake him, and call for the 
police?” 

“No, — collar the watch and save the villain,” 
said Will in a low tone. “I don’t like to speak my 
mind in the open street, but, — if the villain is the 
person who climbed over the cemetery wall, he — or 
she — started from a place suggestive of something 
beside burglary. I — come nearer — I believe she ’s 
a fugitive — Havilah herself, perhaps ! What those 
men said about somebody pointing out ‘the nigger’s ’ 
sent my mind, like a shot, over to Scipio’s. That 
child is there, — and the person running away to- 
night is — sh ! — a woman, Desborough ! ” 

“Hm! so!” said Horace. “Don’t worry, I’ll 
be guarded in my remarks, — then your mind is 
where the watchman’s landed, — on Juliet. Romeo 
wouldn’t have needed such elaborate ladders, and 
he would never have ‘left ’em beliint for ivvy- 
dence; ’ I’m inclined to believe that it was Juliet 
who went from our neighbor’s to visit the tombs, 
and that the lady whom you have observed is identi- 
cal with her.” 

They walked half a block farther and then simul- 
taneously halted and stepped under the low shed 
of a dilapidated little building on the corner. A 
woman appeared half a block ahead of them, hurry- 
ing toward the river. 

“Don’t let her see us,” said Will. “She’ll 


A VIOLIN , AND SHADOWS. 


313 


think we ’re after her. We ’ll head her off, if we 
can.” 

They dodged rapidly and cautiously, in and out 
among the shadows, hut when they came out upon 
the low buildings and wharves along the river edge, 
the woman was nowhere to be seen. Once more 
they stood concealed, in the shadow of a pile of old 
casks. 

“After all, she may not have been Juliet,” whis- 
pered Horace presently. “She may be anybody, 
you know, and have gone into some shanty.” 

“ She is the person whom we have followed from 
the first,” Will whispered, “and she is escaping 
from something.” 

“She is ” — 

“God! Look at her! ” cried Horace, in an awful 
whisper. 

At the end of a long wharf in front of them, for 
the flash of a second the woman’s figure appeared, 
outlined against the sky. She ran along the edge 
of the dock and then, with a wild gesture, gave a 
leap into the darkness and was gone. 

The only cry was from the two young men who 
saw her. They rushed to where she had been and 
stood for an instant looking down at the water, black 
and dreadful in the great shadow of the dock. 
There was nothing to be heard except the heavy 
plashing of the tide. Will and Horace listened 
painfully for a cry or sound to tell them where to 
look for the desperate woman. They were certain 
that she had leaped into the water. She was drown- 
ing, and they could see no sign or trace to help them 


314 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


save her. Their coats and shoes were off; Will, 
clinging to a log, climbed down over the edge of the 
wharf and stood on a projecting beam peering into 
the shadows. 

“Don’t do anything crazy — think of Grace!” 
cried Horace, over him. “Comeback! We must 
find a rope.” Will leaped back with the aid of 
Horace’s hand and they looked for a rope. They 
could not find one and for a few minutes ran des- 
perately back and forth trying to see or hear some- 
thing. There was nothing but silence and black- 
ness, which were ghastly. How long they were 
there they did not know. Every minute seemed an 
eternity. 

“Come home, Will, come home! ” Horace begged 
at last. “There ’s nothing we can do now. For 
God’s sake come home, and may this everlasting 
night end sometime ! ” 


CHAPTER XX. 


DANGER. 

The first thing which Will and Horace did the 
next morning, after an early breakfast, was to call 
upon Friend Holly and give him a full account of 
their experiences of the night. To their surprise 
they found no ground upon which to base the sus- 
picion that the poor creature whom they had seen 
throw herself from the dock was a runaway slave. 
Friend Holly had had no occasion to harbor a fugi- 
tive for several weeks. Havilah Moore was staying 
at the Mortons’, and there had been no intimation 
whatever that her master was again in pursuit of 
her. On the evening before, she had brought a 
note from Mrs. Morton to Mrs. Holly, but, as it re- 
quired no answer, had not waited. Friend Holly 
questioned the servant who had admitted her, and 
she said definitely that she had seen Havilah go, 
and that “she should think everybody in the house 
might have heard her bang the door after her.” 
Friend Holly’s servant was cross and grumbled, 
“That Hav’lah always slams the door after her; 
she ain’t got no manners, an’ she never did have 
any.” 

The yard was examined and unmistakable traces 
of some intruder were discovered. The ladder had 


316 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


been moved from its place, tlie vines disturbed and 
broken, and the clothesline had disappeared. 

After a little consultation Friend Holly and the 
young men decided that the yard had been used as 
a convenient workshop for the maker of the rope 
ladders, but this was the only conclusion which they 
reached. 

The woman who had thrown herself from the 
wharf was probably some unhappy, desperate crea- 
ture who had nothing to do with the person who 
climbed the graveyard wall. There were plenty of 
them, poor souls, to spring up from almost anywhere 
in a big city. Of course, inquiry as to Havilah had 
better be made at once, but the chance was that she 
was safe at Friend Morton’s. 

The young men started upon the business of the 
day, Will to the office of Messrs. Hedges & Desbor- 
ough, Horace up town to make a business call upon 
a client. It jsvas difficult to get his mind into work- 
ing order, and he was rather glad not to find his 
client at home. He started to walk down town to 
his office and was glad of the extra distance made 
by his errand. Reaching Union Square, he went 
through one of the gates in the high iron fence 
which enclosed the park circle. Just as he did so, 
Rachel Stanwood entered the park by another gate, 
with her little brother and sister. She was carrying 
several parcels hugged against her left side and the 
children stopped her to add their two small lunch- 
baskets which they wanted her to hold while they 
had a little play. Rachel caught sight of Horace 
and instinctively wanted to avoid letting him see her 
so awkwardly encumbered. 


DANGER. 


317 


Impulsively she turned to put the children off, 
and exclaimed a little nervously, “ W ait ! Perhaps 
we had better not stop this morning. I ’ll come 
with you to ” — Betty protested, “Thee said 
there ’d be more than twenty minutes if we would n’t 
poke, and we hurried like everything, and I know 
something ’ll happen to-morrow! ” 

Rachel could not hear what Betty said, because 
Dick was pleading in a shrill voice, “Oh, do stop, 
Strachel” — his abbreviation of “Sister Rachel” — 
“Betty has made up a lovely play all on horseback, 
and they ’re trimming the bushes so we can get 
splendid whips, and I ’m going to make my horse 
canter like cr-acky!” The children’s faces looked 
as if their last hope of salvation hung upon their 
sister’s consent. She did not hear half they said, 
but resigned herself to a pitiful sort of martyrdom 
of which they were totally unconscious. She looked 
at Horace and thought he had never looked more 
noble, more like Susy Morton’s “Lord Duke.” 
She was conscious of the mended, rubbed finger-tips 
of her gloves, and her faded summer’s bonnet. The 
lunch baskets were the last straw. One was too 
full, so that the cover would not go down, and the 
other had a missing handle supplied with a piece 
of red tape; it looked, moreover, as if Dick had 
supplied it himself. Rachel’s martyrdom was pa- 
thetic ; a young girl minds such things. She might 
easily have retreated through the gateway, close by. 
But the family principles prevented her. They laid 
down the laws of morality with severity, and re- 
fused to those of conventionality even so much as a 


318 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


hearing. “Do nothing you are ashamed to have 
the eye of the world look upon,” they said. They 
were very noble, but at times very uncomfortable 
principles. Rachel’s heart ached to set them aside 
just long enough to hide her parcels and her shabbi- 
ness from Horace; then, despising herself for the 
wish, she rather forced them upon him. 

“Ra — Miss Stanwood!” he exclaimed joyfully, 
with his hand extended. “ Good-morning ! Where 
are you going? On a picnic?” 

“It looks like it,” she said laughing, and ex- 
plained. “No, no! ” she exclaimed, as he was tak- 
ing possession of the baskets. “You shall not be 
victimized; I am used to it, but you are not.” 

“It is time I was then,” he said, taking all the 
things from her, with quiet authority. “Don’t be 
unkind ! ” 

“It isn’t unkindness; it is justice,” she said. 
“There is no reason why I should put my burdens 
upon you.” 

“Is there not? ” he asked, catching her words up 
quickly. “You are unkind again, for I want there 
to be every reason. Some day ” — 

It was hard to stop, but he made himself do it. 

She was rosy red, and her happy eyes betrayed the 
pleasure it was to be in his company. The family 
principles were already forgotten, and could not, by 
any possibility, trouble either of these young people. 
Horace had to remember vigorously that his busi- 
ness did not at present justify anything like serious 
love-making. He reminded himself sharply that he 
had better prove his ability to manage his own bur- 


DANGER. 


319 


dens before he asked for the responsibility of Miss 
Rachel Stanwood’s. So he looked at the bundles 
and the shabby little baskets and turned his talk 
into banter. 

“I don’t call it either kind or just in you to infer 
that it is out of my line to make myself useful,” 
he said. “You gave me a magnificent drilling at 
the time of the Anti-Slavery Fair, and I have had 
a number of lessons since. Haven’t I a talisman 
which commemorates my skill in threading a net- 
ting-needle? If my hands were not full, I ’d show 
it to you. No,” — holding the baskets up beyond 
her reach, — “you may not have them. I insist 
upon being trusted without proof. You must be- 
lieve that I have my talisman in safe-keeping, and 
also that I am a working member of society and 
have begun to take life seriously.” 

“Well, you are taking it very unornamentally 
this morning, to say the least,” Rachel said gayly. 
“But I decline to be responsible. You might easily 
say that pressing business obliges you to hurry down 
town to the office of Messrs. Hedges & Desborougli. 
I should- believe it, you know.” 

“And now you are getting sarcastic,” Horace 
said, laughing. “I have just been to call on my 
only client and my work on his case will barely oc- 
cupy me half an hour a day for a week ! My most 
pressing business is to keep up a show of occupation 
sufficient to maintain the respect of our office boy, 
Master Dennis Dougherty. And that is not so 
pressing as it is difficult and complicated.” 

They laughed together, and he went on amusing 


320 


RACHEL STANWOOD. 


her with an exaggerated tale of the devices resorted 
to by Messrs. Hedges & Desborough to give their 
office an aspect of business. 

In the midst of his account, Betty and Dick came 
cantering up to them on imaginary horses. Their 
play was anything but graceful. Betty’s efforts to 
represent a superb and graceful rider were marred 
by the necessity of making her legs do duty for 
the horse, and her prancing was ungainly. Dick 
shouted and hallooed in his character of rider, but 
as a fiery steed he reared, plunged, balked, and 
stamped until he rolled over on the edge of one of 
the grass plots and broke down in fits of laughter. 
Betty, as she suddenly caught sight of Horace, 
worked her features into astonishing grimaces, to 
cover her embarrassment, and advanced with a new 
and aw T ful package of molasses ginger-cakes done 
up in a piece of mustard-colored coarse paper. 

Rachel said, “ Oh, children !” and tried to dust 
off Dick. Dick shared his fun with Horace by 
laughing up into his face. The family principles 
did not trouble him a bit. Betty made an effort 
to stuff the ginger-cakes into her basket, . gave it 
up and hugged her green-yellow parcel contentedly. 
She innocently accounted for it to Rachel, saying, — 

“We found an old woman outside one of the 
gates, over the other side, with a stand full of pea- 
nuts and cakes and things, and I bought these for 
Mr. Jacob Abbott because he is going to read a 
story specially for Emily Brinckeroff and me.” 

“7 bought taffy; want a bite? ” said Dick, hold- 
ing it up to Horace. 


DANGER. 


321 


Here Rachel interfered with decision and, after a 
short altercation, confiscated the candy as forbidden 
fruit, gave the children their baskets and said that 
it was time to go to school. 

“So, Mr. Desborough, will you give me my 
things now? ” she asked. 

Horace refused, saying that, having assumed the 
responsibility of them, he meant to carry them to 
their destinations, unless she forbade him. 

“Ah, you would not like to be held to that bar- 
gain,” she said, a shadow of sadness coming into 
her face. It was the family principles reappear- 
ing to tell her that she ought to be ashamed of her 
fear of shocking him. She was loyal and felt the 
shame, but the fear remained. She wanted to ap- 
pear at her best before him, and to keep out of sight 
things which would remind him of the differences 
between them. She did not know that, with Hor- 
ace’s eyes, there was nothing but her best to see. 

“This goes with the children; they branch off at 
the next corner,” she said, taking the smallest par- 
cel from him. They stopped at the corner and Ra- 
chel gave the parcel to Betty with messages which 
divulged the fact that it contained a bottle of cough- 
mixture which Mrs. Stan wood had made and was 
sending to one of the child’s teachers. 

Dick, spying some of his school-fellows, ran to 
join them, while Betty lingered to kiss her sister 
good-by and to decide whether or not politeness re- 
quired her to extend the same courtesy to Horace. 
She liked him and, deciding it was safest to do it, 
held up her face. Horace bent instantly and re- 


322 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


ceived the kiss with the assertion that it was one of 
the sweetest he had ever been offered, and Betty 
went her way with steps quickened by a happy con- 
sciousness of having done the politest thing, and the 
pleasure in anticipation of presenting her cakes to 
Mr. Jacob Abbott. 

“Do you perform this sisterly office every morn- 
ing? ” Horace asked, as they walked on down Uni- 
versity Place. 

“No, I come only when something brings me out 
early enough,” she said, not yet over the annoyance 
of thinking that he had been seeing the children 
and her at a disadvantage. “We don’t like them to 
play alone in the park, so I come sometimes to give 
them the opportunity. They don’t often stop at 
peanut-stands to buy gingerbread and taffy.” Then 
she was provoked at herself for explaining. 

“I hope Mr. Abbott will appreciate the ginger- 
bread as he ought,” said Horace deftly. 

“He will be so pleased with my little sister’s at- 
tention that he will not care where the cake came 
from or what it is like,” said Rachel. 

“Now, where do we go next?” asked Horace, by 
way of getting back to something personal. “I 
want to be held to my agreement to take these 
things where they are to go.” 

“They are going ” — Rachel began, and then 
protested: “But no — I can’t take advantage of 
your ignorance, Mr. Desborough. You never went 
to such a place, and it would horrify you; you must 
let me go alone.” 

“What do you mean? If it would affect me so, 


DANGER. 


323 


why doesn’t it you? Now you make me altogether 
unwilling to give up my bargain, unless you have 
strong personal reasons for objecting,” Horace said, 
and added seriously: “Do you really not wish me 
to know where you are going, Miss Stanwood?” 

“I do, and I don’t,” Rachel answered with frank- 
ness. “I” — She waited to let some noisy vehi- 
cles go by and then told him: “I don’t know what 
you will think, Mr. Desborough, but I am going to 
the Tombs.” 

“ Alone ?” asked Horace. 

“Yes; I am taking a book to one prisoner and 
some work to another.” Her tone was a little hard. 
She knew she was shocking him and wanted it over 
with. 

He was silent a moment before he said: “That 
is an errand I can do for you. Give me the names 
of the prisoners.” 

“Oh no, I cannot,” she said. “I have some mes- 
sages for them and must show one woman how to do 
the work. Indeed you must give me the parcels and 
leave me to go by myself. I will take an omnibus.” 

“Not quite yet,” he said. “Not at all, if I can 
help it. Give me the messages and let the woman 
find out how to do the work. Why should crimi- 
nals come in for the reward of a visit from you, Miss 
Stanwood? Why should you go to a place where 
there is nothing but contamination and evil, — evil 
which your eyes should not look upon? ” 

“I am sent there to give , not to receive,” said 
Rachel. “I have been taught that what I carry 
into the prison may help even the worst there, but 


324 


RACHEL STANWOOD. 


that I must bring nothing away with me. Mother 
thinks that even the sight of a young person some- 
times makes the prisoners long to live decent, honest 
lives. She does not believe in preaching. She be- 
lieves in giving them something to do and the chance 
to talk with people who think there is a spark of 
something in them which is worth saving — that they 
are not entirely bad.” 

“Nobody is entirely bad; we all believe that,” 
said Horace. “Everybody believes it, but” — 

“Yes, everybody believes it,” said Rachel with a 
shade of bitterness. “And it is very comfortable 
to believe it as long as there is nothing to do about 
it — while the sinners are far enough away. But, 
standing face to face with them, most people cover 
up that belief so that the sinners never suspect it.” 

“I don’t doubt that,” said Horace, “but it does 
not make me think that visiting the prison and talk- 
ing to criminals is work for you. It seems a little 
like setting a premium on crime. I am sorry you 
have begun this work, and I hope — I hope very 
much that your errand to-day is an exceptional one 
and that you will not go to that dismal place often 
enough to have- it become familiar to ” — 

“ Oh, Mr. Desborough, wait a moment before you 
go on ! ” Rachel cried. She went on with a pitiful 
courage : “I am not beginning any work; I am only 
doing what I have done many times before. The 
inside of the prison is perfectly familiar to me and 
the matron calls me by my name. Sometimes I read 
stories to the women. I can’t preach to them, but 
I can take them work and, may be, a little encour- 


DANGER. 


325 


agement to begin life in a new place when they 
come out. As I said, I have been taught to bring 
nothing away which belongs inside the gates, and 
I hope I do not. I hope I do not ! ” 

“You could not — it would be impossible!” 
Horace exclaimed earnestly. “Don’t suppose for a 
moment that I can think you could. Only you are 
so ” — He stopped short, not daring to tell her 
what he thought she was. Instead of finishing he 
said : “ I wish you went to places from which you 
could bring away something. It seems to me you 
are entitled to a little in return for all you give. 
Are there not plenty of other charities ? ” 

“Oh yes, plenty,” she said, a little wearily. “I 
might go respectably and comfortably into ever so 
many. But there are plenty of people to take up 
those.” 

They walked on silently awhile. They had been 
so much interested that they had threaded their way 
among the people without looking at anybody, or 
observing the occasional acquaintance of one or the 
other who looked at them for recognition. When 
noisy vehicles came by they waited and resumed 
what they had been saying without going back in 
the conversation. The tone they had reached was 
rather a dreary one. Rachel had a vague feeling 
that her frankness had robbed her of something, 
that she had made him see her in a new light in 
which she appeared less attractive to him. She 
made an effort to get into a lighter vein. 

“It is of no use to try to place me where I don’t 
belong, Mr. Desborough,” she exclaimed, trying to 


326 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


make her tone a cheerful one. “The sympathies of 
me and mine are naturally attracted by the lowest 
among .the poor. Perhaps there is plebeian blood 
in our veins which helps us to understand them. 
Perhaps it is only an accident that we are not 
among them ourselves. There! I have told you 
all you wanted to know, and more. I have taken 
away your breath, I know, but,” — her voice grew 
serious again, — “I want you to know me as I am, 
and to realize how different my life is from yours.” 

She expected him to laugh, but he knitted his 
brows and looked pained, while he said: “Yes, 
there is a vast difference,” and sighed, thinking 
how far above him she was. 

Her face settled into an expression of patient sad- 
ness — the sadder, to Horace’s thinking, because 
it seemed familiar. He thought it was the result 
of her prison visiting and an undue intimacy with 
sad aspects of life. But it was not; it was because 
their talk had made her feel herself upon a plane 
which was different and set apart from his. And 
she thought his remark about the “vast difference ” 
meant that he felt it also. 

A harsh, grating laugh which had an unpleas- 
antly familiar sound, caught Rachel’s ear, and she 
involuntarily stopped to look whence it came. The 
stream of people, going and coming in both direc- 
tions, made Mr. Desborough and her draw aside 
toward the houses. As they did so, Horace heard 
a low exclamation from Rachel, and, following her 
eyes, saw approaching a gentleman with a lady 
showily dressed leaning upon his arm. He recog- 


DANGER. 


827 


nized Mr. Suydan immediately, whom Rachel did 
not see at once, for her eyes were riveted in amaze- 
ment upon the face of the lady — upon the sharp, 
hard face of Tibbie MacClare ! As the couple drew 
near, Mr. Suydan raised his hat and bowed with a 
show of great deference. 

Tibbie, tossing her head as high as it would go, 
looked scornfully at Rachel, flaunted her ribbons 
and braceleted arm, and broke again into her rat- 
tling laugh. 

“Why did you allow them to know you saw 
them? Don’t look after them — let us move on!” 
Horace exclaimed, in a vexed tone. 

“Did you see her? It was Tibbie — Miss Mac- 
Clare! What ought I to do?” Rachel exclaimed 
in much perturbation. 

“Do?” exclaimed Horace indignantly. “Walk 
on and widen the distance between them and you as 
rapidly as possible. I don’t know the lady, but 
it is enough that she is in that man’s company.” 

Rachel was looking at him with dazed eyes and a 
face full of trouble. She went on anxiously, as if 
her mind were feeling its way to something. “ But 
it was Tibbie! Tibbie was with him! She ran 
away from us and she hadn’t any money — not a 
penny! We have been pitying her for fear she 
would suffer from want. But she has plenty ! She 
was dressed like a rich lady ! And how did he find 
her?” 

These' thoughts puzzled her while they walked on 
rapidly for a block or two. Then a sudden alarm 
seized her, and she exclaimed: “Oh, Mr. Desbor- 


328 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


ougli, there is something dreadful behind this! 
Take me where I can tell you, without losing time.” 

They turned into a side street. “This will take 
us away from the roar of Broadway,” Horace said. 

“I know what it means now,” Rachel said has- 
tily. “He has found Havilah! Or Diana! That 
is why he looked so wickedly glad. And Tibbie has 
helped him somehow. She knew that little Di was 
at Uncle Scipio’s, and she had been there twice and 
knew the way.” Horace tried to remember what it 
was that Will and he had heard those two men say 
when they were at the cemetery gate. Will had 
connected it with Scipio’s at once. 

“Where should we go to learn what to do about 
it, Miss Stan wood? ” he asked suddenly. 

“Centre Street, the Anti-Slavery Standard office,” 
said Rachel. “We must tell them there that Havi- 
lah’s master is in the city, Mr. Desborough,” — she 
drew nearer to speak confidentially, — “Havilah has 
disappeared! Susy Morton came early to tell us. 
We must go the quickest way to the office.” 

Horace only assented. He made no answer to 
what she had told him, but it set his thoughts into 
a whirlwind. Havilah gone ! Then — He was 
too much excited to think of the circumstances and 
make them coherent. 

They went back to Broadway and took an omni- 
bus for down-town. In the rattle of it they could 
not converse, and had time for thought. Horace 
recalled now what those two men had said! Their 
words fitted into Rachel’s suspicions, certainly, but 
he did not know whether or not to connect the woman 


BANGER. 


329 


whom Will and he had followed the night before 
with Havilali. They could not be one and the same, 
if the former was the person who had climbed over 
the graveyard wall, for Havilah had left Friend 
Holly’s long before. What Rachel had told him 
about her visits to the prison was making just this 
difference to him — until then he had had no thought 
of telling her the story of the night before, but he 
was now considering the advisability of doing so. 
He was glad of the fact which, half an hour ago, he 
had deplored — that he had plenty of time to throw 
away. 

At the Anti -Slavery Standard office they found 
Friend Morton, a short, stout Quaker gentleman, 
closely shaved and very trig and neat in appearance, 
wearing the plain gray clothes of his sect. Rachel 
in pretty Quaker fashion introduced Horace, saying : 
“This is my friend, Horace Desborough, ” and with- 
out pause she added: “We have just seen Hav- 
ilah ’s master, and I think he has found her, Uncle 
John ; I feel sure that he has ! ” 

“Ah! ” Friend Morton exclaimed, and made no 
other remark, excepting to ask a few questions to 
draw from Rachel and Horace the assurance of their 
recognition of Mr. Suydan. Satisfied on this point, 
Friend Morton went to the door of another room, 
and summoning a middle-aged, dark mulatto man 
whom he called “Napoleon,” gave him a slip of 
paper upon which he had scribbled something, and 
said to him quietly : “ Send that through the same 
list.” Coming back, smiling and rubbing his hands, 
he said: “Now, my young friends, if you have any 


330 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


further information to give, let us have it. Thee 
looks surprised, Horace, but Rachel understands 
our ways better.” 

Horace said: “I am learning some of them, Mr. 
Morton, and if you will tell me of anything to be 
done in this matter, I shall be glad to do it. There 
seems to be no time to lose. What steps do you 
propose to take first? If there is anywhere to go, 
or you have any messages to send, I am at your 
service.” 

Friend Morton’s benevolent face wrinkled all 
over with a smile of satisfaction as he said: “Louis 
Napoleon is taking all the steps which are necessary 
to begin with, and he has very quick legs for the ser- 
vice. Ha! ha! ” laughed the old gentleman, “Thou 
art not the first person whom I have surprised with 
an announcement like that. Sit down, sit down,- and 
I will tell thee what Napoleon is doing.” He drew 
up chairs, and, when they were seated, said with 
relish: “The colored man who was here a moment 
ago was named Napoleon Lewis, but in compliment 
to the Emperor of France he has transposed his 
name and altered the spelling, calling himself ‘Louis 
Napoleon.’ It is really a great compliment to the 
Emperor, who is vastly inferior in character to my 
friend Louis. But now, as thee said, there is no 
time to lose, and I see thou art anxious. As soon 
as we knew of Havilali Moore’s disappearance, we 
telegraphed the word ‘Disappeared’ to all of our 
principal employees on the underground railroad, 
and signed her initials, H. M. The moment I was 
assured that your information concerning her mas- 


BANGER. 


331 


ter was correct, I sent Napoleon off with another 
message, — ‘Kidnappers abroad,’ signed with the 
same initials, to send through the same list. That 
is all. Everybody receiving those telegrams will be 
on the alert to harbor and protect any slave bearing 
a name beginning with those letters, and Havilah’s 
master may have difficulty in getting her away from 
the city. We have as yet discovered no legal flaw 
in his claim of her and her child, but we may be 
able to rescue her without. And now, if thee does 
not object, I would like to hear again the experi- 
ence which thee and William Hedges had last night. 
Friend Holly has been here this morning and told 
me of it, but I want to go over it again. When 
Friend Holly learned that Havilali had gone, he 
was disposed to think that she might have been, 
after all, the woman whom you followed ; and the 
fact of her master being in the city gives still more 
reason for the possibility.” 

The old gentleman adjusted his spectacles and 
prepared to take notes of the important details of 
the story. Horace told it carefully. 

Kachel kept her eyes fixed upon him, and her 
cheeks burned with excitement. In the first part of 
his story she added several questions to those which 
Friend Morton asked, but from the point where 
Horace and Will left their boarding-house, she did 
not speak. 

When Horace came to the tragic scene at the 
wharf, he turned to her and said, as if it hurt him 
to go on : “This is painful for you. Why need you 
hear it? ” 


332 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


“I want to hear it,” she said, a little sharply be- 
cause of the emotion she concealed. “ The poor girl 
was the one who suffered, whoever she was and what- 
ever she had done — who am I that I can’t even 
hear about her? ” 

She half turned from him as she spoke, leaned her 
arm upon a table and shaded her eyes with her hand. 
Through the rest of his story he could not see her 
face. 

When he had finished, Friend Morton looked 
grave and sat a few minutes in deep thought. Then, 
with a gesture as if he hopelessly put something 
aside, he heaved a sigh and said : “ Well, in all prob- 
ability the telegrams will be of no use. It looks to 
me as if the poor creature were Havilah, and as if 
she had taken her life. She has said repeatedly that 
she would do it rather than go back to slavery. 
Poor child ! Poor child ! I think she is with her 
rightful Master at last.” 

“No!” exclaimed Rachel, rising and excited. 
“That was somebody else. It was Havilah who 
escaped over the wall. She tied the ropes and all, 
and she was caught by those men ! I feel sure of it 
— I know it ! ” 

Her voice trembled as she spoke, and she went to 
the window and stood with her back to Friend Mor- 
ton and Horace. 

Horace went over to her and said earnestly: “I 
think you are mistaken, but if you wish it I will do 
anything, go anywhere you tell me. I will try with 
all the power I have to find and rescue Havilah ; only 
don’t grieve about ” — 


DANGER. 


333 


She turned quickly and fixed her wide-open eyes 
upon him while she said with spirit : “ Grieve ? Let 
us try to find Havilah first. There ’ll he time 
enough to cry when we either succeed or fail in 
doing that.” 

She went back to Friend Morton and was vehe- 
ment in asserting that the slaveholder was the person 
who knew where Havilah was, and that he ought to 
be found and watched. 

“His name is on some hotel book, no doubt,” said 
Friend Morton, “and there will be no harm in 
watching his movements, but I am of opinion, Ra- 
chel child, that the person with whom you saw him 
caused that peculiar expression of satisfaction which 
has so impressed itself upon thy imagination. After 
the story which thy friend Horace has told me, I 
think the chances are very small that anybody will 
find Havilah.” 

But Rachel was persistent. Her mind had seized 
upon a little point which seemed to the others insig- 
nificant, but which, to her, identified the person who 
had escaped through the cemetery as Havilah. It 
was the little speech of the servant at Friend Holly’s 
about Havilah ’s leaving the house. 

“All you know is that the servant said Havilah 
banged the door after her when she went out,” Ra- 
chel argued. “You all seem to imagine that the 
cook waited upon Havilah to the street door ! I tell 
you that the cook is an ignorant, cross Irish woman 
who hates the sight of a colored person, and I don’t 
believe she so much as looked at Havilah while she 
was in the house. She probably banged the kitchen 


334 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


door herself, as soon as Havilali left the room. Or 
Havilah might have banged the front door purposely, 
to make the cook think she had gone. But what- 
ever she did first, I believe she went back into the 
yard afterwards, and that it was she whom you saw, 
Mr. Desborough, in the dark corner there.” 

She was so urgent that Friend Morton decided to 
let things proceed on the assumption that her theory 
was correct. After its own method the Anti-Slavery 
Society would discover Mr. Suydan’s whereabouts, 
if possible, and be on the watch to see if he at- 
tempted to take Havilah out of the city. 

“And meanwhile, Rachel,” said Friend Morton, 
“continue on thy way. Go perform thy mission at 
the Tombs and take thy friend with thee. If Hav- 
ilah has been captured, it is more than likely that 
her master has placed her in prison for safe keeping 
until he is ready to start for the South. The keepers 
will let you make a tour of the prison, on pretense 
of showing it to Horace. Don’t betray your pur- 
pose. If you find Havilah there, come immediately 
back here, and we shall know what to do next.” 


CHAPTER XXI, 


HAVILAH. 

Before daybreak on that same morning, Scipio 
Franklin, in his little shanty at Gowanus, disturbed 
his wife’s best sleep by getting his feet so entangled 
with the rockers of a chair as to cause it to swing 
and turn as if it had twenty rockers, and to stop it- 
self with a smart bang against the bedpost. 

“Lawd, what’s dat?” cried Peggy, sitting up- 
right with a bounce. 

“Sh-sh-sh! t)oan make a noise! ” said Scipio. 

“Massy sakes!” said Peggy, lowering her voice 
into a stage-whisper. “ What yo’ wakin’ me up fo’ 
in de dead o’ night to tell me dat, an’ makin’ no’se 
nuff yo’se’f to wake de hull grabeyahd! ” 

“Sh-sh-sh! ” said Scipio, with a sound like the let- 
ting off of steam, and jabbing with a carpet slipper 
at the gleam of his wife’s nightcap. “Hoi’ yo’ bref ! 
Dey ’s sump’m de matta wid W ilium Lloyd Gah’son 
outen de bahn, an’ I’m gwine dah to fin’ out what 
’t is.” 

Peggy turned herself on a pivot and sat on the 
edge of the bed while she protested vehemently: 
“Yo’ Scipio ’Dolphus Franklin, yo’ better look out 
fo’ yo’ own bones, an’ leab Willum Lloyd Gah’son 
to ten’ to hisse’f, afo’ yo’ go to wuk onlockin’ de 


336 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


house-do’ an' lettin’ de bloodhoun’s an’ robbers in 
yer! An’ I tell yo’ doan do it ef yo’ knows whar 
yo’ senses is! ” 

“My senses has a diff’rent ’pinion, Peggy, an’ 
dey makes a p’ticklar ’quest dat yo’ woan’ interfeah 
wid ’em,” said Scipio. 

“Hm! ” grunted Peggy. “Den I reck’n I better 
gib ’em some can’lelight to wuk by.” While she 
lighted a candle, she continued muttering: “W’en 
yo ’ senses gits to conjurin’, somebody better be roun’ 
to take hoi’ an’ help wid what ’s gwine to happen. 
Whar is yo’, Misteh Franklin?” she asked aloud, 
carrying her light to the door leading into the par- 
lor, where she discovered Scipio groping. “ What ’s 
yo’ huntin’ ? ” 

“De matches,” said Scipio, blinking at the light. 

“Mought ’a’ knowed you’d go to Kingdom Come 
fur ’em!” said Peggy. “W’en yo’ fin’s out de 
can’le ’s lit, mebby yo’ ’ll splain to me w’at ’s de 
case.” 

“Dat’s jes’ w’at I ’m gwine to fin’ out,” said 
Scipio, putting his clothes on hastily. “Dey ’s 
sump’m Willum Lloyd Gali’son doan ’prove ob — 
dat ’s all I know. An’ w’at he doan ’prove ob 
ain’t right. I ’s yeard a quar kin’ o’ ’sturbance 
two or free times. Dat’s right, gib me de lantun.” 

He took the lantern she had lighted, snuggled it 
inside of his coat and armed himself with a stout 
cane. On his way to the door, in tucking the cane 
under his arm, he switched off with it the cloth 
which Peggy kept over the bust of Venus, on its 
high shelf in the corner. 


HAVILAH. 337 

“ Ya-ah! ” cried Peggy, stepping backward into 
the bedroom. 

Eobbers and bloodhounds were remote scarecrows 
to Peggy, but the white head of Venus was a reality. 

“Put it back afo’ yo’ step outen dat do’, Scip,” 
she said. “W’atebber’s gwine on at de bahn, 1 
ain’t gwine to stay yer ’lone wid dat grabeyahd- 
image rarin’ up its ole head ober me ! ” Scipio gave 
his wife a look of scorn, readjusted the cloth over 
Venus, and went out of the front door. 

Peggy set the candle on the bureau in the bedroom 
and proceeded to partially dress herself, putting on 
her shoes and a dressing-gown which had the shape 
of an extinguisher. She went into the parlor, lighted 
the lamp, and then went to look out at the window, 
toward the barn. 

She could see the gleam of the lantern, but that 
was all. Everything was quiet. She decided that 
the only things out of kilter were her husband’s 
senses. 

“An’ dey ’d be a heap better off ef he ’d ’lowed 
’em to stay in bed whah dey b’longs dis time o’ 
night,” she grumbled. 

Mr. and Mrs. Franklin enjoyed each other’s pecu- 
liarities, and whatever personalities were bandied 
between them were in the way of pleasantry. It was 
their method of joking, that was all. 

Peggy, looking out of the window, began to get 
tired of her husband’s delay. 

“W’at in de name o’ Moses is he stayin’ out dah 
fo’, doin’ de wuk w’at b’longs to to-morrow?” she 
said to herself. “ Ef he doan make no better use of 


338 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


his time dan dat, he ’ll git into nex’ week, an’ den 
he woan know when he is! ” She left the window 
and opened the door of the crooked staircase which 
•led to the room where little Diana slept. 

The motion of the door stirred the cloth which 
covered Venus. Peggy scowled at the shrouded 
head and her lips moved with some mumbled im- 
precation. She went up the stairway a few steps, 
stood a minute, listening to Diana’s regular breath- 
ing, and then came down again. The boards creaked 
frightfully. Venus was so close to the stairs that 
even Peggy’s motion, as she stepped from them into 
the parlor, moved the drapery again. It was very 
light and stirred with the faintest breath. Peggy 
stood still a minute, with her back to it ; from the 
corner of her eye she had seen it move. There was 
not a sound until some piece of furniture in the next 
room cracked. 

“Scip?” Peggy said softly, without moving. 
“Dat yo’, Scip? ” Then she reflected that he could 
not get into the house without her hearing him. 
She associated the cracking of the furniture with 
footsteps, and that made her think she heard more 
of them. 

“Dey ain’t no mortal bein’ ken git inside o’ dat 
room, ’ceps dey comes froo yer,” she reflected. She 
strained her ears for sounds, and there was a creak 
from one place, a knock from another, and a scratch 
from another. 

“ Benus got sump'm to do wid it ! ” Peggy thought, 
and turned her head very carefully to see if that cloth 
was moving again. She was afraid to move her 


HAVILAH. 


839 


body for fear of making the boards creak under her. 
She had left the stair door open, and there was a 
slight draught from it. Peggy’s glare, as she turned 
it slowly, met a flutter which the draught made in # 
Venus’s covering. It was the last straw. Peggy’s 
endurance came to an end then and there. She 
turned with a swing, went into the kitchen, unlocked 
the door leading to the yard, opened it wide and 
placed a bench against it to prevent it from closing. 
Then she lighted her kitchen lamp. There was de- 
termination in her every step and motion. Peggy 
was going to have a settling with Venus. The 
boards might creak, and the furniture split itself 
with cracking now, Peggy did not stop to listen or 
waver. With her quick movements and the draughts 
that were let in, the cloth over Venus fluttered wild 
signals of alarm, and well it might, for Venus’s hour 
had come. Peggy went straight from the kitchen 
lamp to the goddess, snatched off her covering, 
grasped the bust by its pedestal, and carried it 
through the kitchen out into the yard. Then, rais- 
ing it as high as its weight allowed, she dashed it 
down upon the stone doorstep with all her force. 
Without waiting to examine the pieces, she picked 
up the head, held it high, and dashed it down again. 
And so she did repeatedly until Venus had not a 
feature left. When Peggy was assured of this, she 
came into the house, locked the door again, blew out 
her kitchen lamp, and returned to the parlor. She 
sat down on her rocking-chair, facing the corner 
where Venus had stood, and smiled intense satisfac- 
tion at the empty shelf. 


340 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


When Scipio unlocked the door of the shed which 
was dignified by being called a barn, the mule greeted 
him with sounds which were unmistakably those of 
welcome. Scipio patted him and examined his stall 
to see what was the matter. Everything was as 
usual and the animal appeared in good condition. 
Scipio ’s hand stopped on Willum’s back, as he per- 
ceived that the little window opposite the stall was 
open. It was one which was never used, and Scipio 
had supposed that it was nailed up. Somebody had 
opened it and the mule had recognized that the 
person was an intruder. Scipio tightened his grasp 
on his stick and went to the window to look about 
and listen. He immediately suspected that some- 
body had made an attempt to steal Willum. He 
set the lantern down on a barrel, closed the window, 
and fastened it with a stick which he jammed be- 
tween the sash and a beam. He was reaching for his 
lantern and stick, preparatory to making an exami- 
nation of the premises, when he heard his name 
spoken in a hoarse whisper: “Uncle Scipio! ” 

“In de Lawd’s name who ’s dat? ” he asked. 

“It ’s I — Havilah — oh, Uncle Scip ! ” answered 
the voice, in distress, repeating his name. In a mo- 
ment Scipio found Havilah half lying on some straw 
in a corner of the shed. 

“Hab’lah! Pore chile, whah yo’ come from?” 
Scipio exclaimed. She looked wild and haggard 
and was shaking very much. She was leaning on 
her hands, which seemed to keep the upper part of 
her body from falling over. “Whah yo’ come 
from?” Scipio repeated. 


HAVILAH. 


341 


“From misery — from death!” she said. “Oh, 
why didn’t I end it? Why didn’t I” — She 
stopped, as if she did not know what she was saying. 

“Oh hush, chile! ” said Scipio. In distress to do 
something, and not knowing what, he knelt down 
before her and tried to pat and stroke her, as he 
had his mule. “Doan try to tell whah yo’ ’s been, 
chile,” he coaxed, “nor w’at brung yo’ yer. Yo’ ’s 
all right now yo’ ’s come, an’ we ’ll take keer on yo’ 
an’ make yo’ git some res’. Dah, chile, dah! No 
matteh who ’s been arter yo’, dey ’s druv yo’ to de 
right pla — ” 

“I saw him, Uncle Scip!” Havilah said, in a 
frightened whisper. “He was in the street and I 
did not dare to go back ! He did not see me, but 
he was there. And she was with him ! They ” — 
“Nebber min’ whah dey was, chile! ” said Scipio. 
“Doan try to tell Uncle Scip to-night! Yo’ ’s got 
away frum ’em! Dey did n’t f oiler yo’ ” — 

“ Oh yes ! Yes ! ” cried Havilah, suddenly excited. 
“ They had a hundred after me, all the way ! They 
chased me to the river ! They ” — 

“Dah! Dah! Now hush, chile, an’ doan let no- 
buddy yer w’at dey did! Hush! Hush, pore chile, 
pore chile ! ” 

Scipio drew her to him and she clung to him, as 
if the hands of her pursuers were upon her trying 
to drag her away. He held her, rubbing and pat- 
ting her still, until her grasp slackened. He thought 
she was soothed and was beginning to urge her to 
go with him into the house, when the sound of blows 
reached them. 


342 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


“There they are! They are coming!” Havi- 
lah cried in fearful whispers. “They’ll take me 
now ! Oh, Uncle Scip, save Di ! Save Di ! Save 
Di!” 

She clung to him desperately again, threw her 
head back and looked at him in an agony of suppli- 
cation. Scipio could not quiet her until the sound 
of the blows ceased. 

“An’ dat jes’ shows how yo’ ’s outen yo’ hade, 
pore chile! Yo’ ’s skeered at yerin’ Peggy chop de 
wood! ” he said. “An’ she wouldn’t tech it, ef she 
knowed, no she would n’t. She ’d be out yer, coax- 
in’ an’ comfortin’ yo’, an’ I wants yo’ to come now 
to whah she is, Hab’lah. Dah! So! Come Tong 
keerfle — dat ’s de way. Lean on ole Uncle Scip 
an’ make yo’se’f hebby as yo’ ken. Now stan’ still 
jes’ fer me to shet de do’. Dat ’s it! Now! I ’s 
blowed out de lantun an’ dey ain’t nobuddy but ole 
Aunt Peggy ’roun nowhahs! ” 

With this kind of talk he supported Havilah to 
the house. 

“Tsh! sh — sh!”he said, silencing Peggy’s ex- 
clamations, as they entered. “Pull down de shades 
an’ doan make no ’spressions ob ’stonishment — not 
ef yo’ sees de hull chapter cornin’ in de house to 
wunst ! ” 

Peggy understood in an instant. She helped her 
husband place Havilah in the big rocking-chair, and, 
as the poor woman, shivering, buried her face against 
her, Peggy said cheerfully : “Dere, honey! Cry yo’ 
eyes out fust, dat ’s alius de bes’ way to begin. 
Light de fah, Scip, an’ put de kettle on to bile. She 


HAVILAH. 343 

urns’ hev a drink o’ sump’m hot, no matter w’at ’s 
gwine to happen.” 

Presently, when she had taken some tea, Havilah 
revived a little. Her wild terror disappeared, and 
she seemed to feel that she was in a place of safety. 

“ I am here, with you, Aunt Peggy — in yore 
home — ain’t I? ” she asked for reassurance. 

“To be sure yo’ is, honey! ” said Peggy tenderly. 
“An’ yo’ ’s as safe yer, wid Uncle Scip an’ me, as 
if yo’ was dead an’ buried.” 

“Oh, if I only was! If I only was! ” Havilah 
moaned. “If it wasn’t for Di, Aunt Peggy,” she 
said, with sudden hardness, “I ’d be in the river 
now, I would ! ” 

“But it is for Di! ” cried Peggy, catching at the 
words. “It is for Di, honey! Yo’ ’s in a better 
place, yer wid Scip an’ me. An’ right ober yo’ 
hade, in de room upstahs, dere ’s yo’ own chile, little 
Di, cuddled up in a nice, comf’ble bed, sleepin’ soun’ 
as a nut. An’ de do’ ob de stahs is shet, so yo’ can 
cry an’ take on all yo’ ’s a min’ to.” 

“I ’m not crying, Aunt Peggy,” said Havilah, in 
a hard tone. “It ’s the chill which makes my voice 
tremble. I don’t want to cry, I want” — 

“Ob co’se! ob co’se!” broke in Peggy. “An’ 
dey ain’t nuffin’ to cry fer, nudder, — wid Di so 
soun’ sleep dat she ’s straggled all ober de bade. 
Yo’ ’ll hab to lift her to one side, when yo’ gits on 
to de oder one. Scip, bring a bit o’ brade fer me 
to dip into dis tea. Yaas ! Di, she doan keer how 
much o’ de bade she gits to sleepin’ on, an’ yo’ 
mought as well ’speck to wake de dea — de President 


344 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


ob de United States down in de White House, as to 
wake little Di, when yo’ goes upstahs bimeby to lay 
down side ob her. Yaas, honey, jes’ take anoder 
tas’, cose it ’ll wawm yo’ up, an’ ef it doan tas’ 
right, dat ’s on’y ’count o’ Scip makin’ it. But yo’ 
can’t ’speet Uncle Scip to foller de cook-book. So 
long as it ’s hot, dat ’s all yo’ wants now to stop dese 
yer shakes, ’fore yo’ come upstahs wid Aunt Peggy 
an’ gits into de bade wid little Di. Den yo ’ll git 
plenty wawm ’nough, wid Di tunnin’ ober to cuddle 
into yo’, like a little hot kittle o’ soup simmerin’ 
on de back paht o’ de stove. An’ she ’ll sleep, jes’ 
like de seven, an’ nebber know till mawnin’ dat 
she ’s so comf ’ble on’y coze she ’s snuggled up ’gainst 
her mammy ! ” 

Peggy, talking in this way, by skillful art kept 
the poor woman’s mind returning to her child, until 
at last she was quieted and allowed herself to be 
helped into bed. 

Scipio and Peggy did not go to bed again. They 
were too thoroughly roused to sleep, and sat an hour 
or more in their big armchairs, in the parlor, invent- 
ing first one and then another theory to account 
for Havilah’s appearance. They interrupted each 
other occasionally, Peggy to creep up stairs and 
look at the mother and child asleep, and Scipio to 
walk around the outside of the house and shed, to 
make sure that nobody was lurking about the prem- 
ises, on the watch for Havilah. 

They had extinguished the lights and the sun 
was rising when Scipio, coming in from giving the 
mule his breakfast, came to a sudden halt, in the 


HAVILAH. 


345 


middle of the parlor. He stood quite still for a 
few seconds, then rubbed his eyes, and stood still 
again, with his hands in his pockets. He was look- 
ing into the corner where the bust of Venus had 
been. 

Finally he called, softly, so as not to disturb 
Havilah : ‘ 4 Peggy ! ’ ’ 

“Yer ! ” answered Peggy, from the kitchen, where 
she was preparing to make some coffee. 

“Look-a-yer! ” said Scipio. 

Peggy appeared at the door. Scipio pointed to 
the empty shelf and asked in a stage - whisper : 
“ Whar is she ? ” 

Peggy examined the inside of the coffee-pot in 
her hand. 

“Whar is she? ” asked Scipio again, with a comi- 
cally inquisitive look. 

“Scip,” said Peggy, rolling her eyes around at 
him, “de Lawd gib his word in de Chapter, dat, ef 
I hearken to Him, my enemies dey ’s got to be smit. 
Yo’ unnerstan’ dat?” 

“ Hm — m — yaas, ” said Scipio, doubtfully, “ but 
I doan see how a dade image got anything to do wid 
dat.” 

“Dat ’s cose yo’ ain’t hearkened to de Lawd 
much as I hab, Scip,” said Peggy. “I listened an’ 
listened, ’till I yeard ’nough, an’ las’ night, w’ile 
yo’ was outen de bahn, seemed to me jes’ like as ef 
de time come for Berms to be smit, an ’ I smit 
her!” 

Scipio shook with a low laugh which seemed to 
start from his boots and work its way up. He 


846 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


allowed it to rumble away again, and then asked 
mildly: “Does yo’ feel better, Peggy?” 

Peggy answered with spirit, “Yaas, I does! ” 

“Doan yo’ t’ink yo’ ’ll miss Benus? ” Scipio asked 
mischievously. 

“No, I don’t ! ” Peggy answered with more spirit, 
and stepping nearer to Scipio, she put her arms 
akimbo, the coffee-pot still in one hand, and ex- 
plained: “I’m done habin’ her stan’in’ dah, like 
she jes’ riz outen de grabe, lookin’, wid de w’ites ob 
her eyes, at eberyt’ing gwine on! Puttin’ de bed- 
quilt ober her an’ tunnin’ my back didn’ make no 
difference — dah she was ! But she ’s done gone 
now whar she can’t trouble me no mo’, an’ dey ain’t 
no use ob quirin’ fo’ her. Ef yo’ wants any ob 
de carcase, go look outen de yard, roun’ de kitchen 
do’.” 

“Well, Peggy,” said Scipio gently, screwing up 
one eye and looking slyly at her, “ ’scuse me ef I 
axes yo’ one mo’ question — w’at yo’ gwine to say 
to Miss Desbrum, w’en she ’quires for de lady? ” 

Peggy’s mouth drew down and she looked daggers 
for an instant. Then she said with sarcasm, “Hm! 
Reckon I kin fin’ a plenty to talk ’bout ’thout lug- 
gin’ in Benus 1 ” 


CHAPTER XXII. 


TRACING FOOTSTEPS. 

On the way to the Tombs Horace questioned Ra- 
chel about Havilah’ s history. What she told him 
increased his interest very greatly. As one fact 
after another came to his knowledge, he became 
anxious to learn every detail and was disappointed 
because she did not know certain ones accurately. 
She was surprised to see him betray an eagerness 
which amounted to excitement. From the depress- 
ing conviction that he had seen Havilah throw her- 
self into the water, he seized upon the hope that 
Rachel was right in thinking that she was alive. 

“No matter where, or who has her, Miss Stan- 
wood, I will save her and her child, if it is in human 
power to do it,” he said excitedly. “I will think 
of nothing but them, and I will not rest until I can 
show them to you, safe, and out of that man’s reach. 
If ever I was good for anything, I ’ll be good for 
this!” 

Rachel admired him for his enthusiasm, but could 
not account for it. She asked if what she had told 
him had given him any fresh points or clue to work 
upon, but he did not answer directly. 

“Don’t ask anything now,” he said. “Only help 
me get the facts I want. If we only find Havilah 


848 


BACHEL STAN WOOD. 


at the prison, I can learn them for myself. How 
much farther is it?” 

“About three blocks,” she said, panting, “but — 
do you know how fast you ’re walking me? ” 

He slackened his steps and apologized, laughing. 
She made him laugh more, saying cheerfully: “No 
matter ! I don’t want more than just enough breath 
to get along with. I ’ll suffer up to the limit, for 
the good of the cause. I was brought up to suffer 
for Causes, you know; so, go on! ” 

At the Tombs Horace was impatient at the delib- 
eration of the matron, who wanted to stop Rachel 
and make friendly inquiries for the health and 
happiness of her family, and at the keeper’s slow- 
ness in conducting them along the corridors, and 
his desire to point out and describe to them the in- 
teresting cases. It was necessary to be guarded and 
not betray the object of their visit, so Horace put 
on an appearance of listening. Rachel visited the 
special inmates to whom she had brought the book 
and work, joining Horace and the keeper when her 
mission was accomplished. Horace watched her, 
when an opportunity offered, and thought of what 
he had said to her about contamination. He saw 
the prisoners look at her, sometimes with curiosity, 
generally with admiration. Her fresh color and 
girlish beauty made her a welcome sight, and her 
business-like way of performing her errands pleased 
them. 

Those who looked at her saw that she had come 
with a definite purpose of helping some among them, 
and not from idle curiosity. 


TRACING FOOTSTEPS. 


349 


Here and there a few scowled after her, with ex- 
pressions of resentment upon their faces. Perhaps 
their thoughts rebelled against the accident of birth 
which placed them amid degradation, and her where 
she was shielded from it ; and they might very well 
have wondered how things would have been with 
them, or their young sisters or daughters, had their 
chances been even with hers. Some were indiffer- 
ent, and allowed her to pass by them without any 
thoughts at all. To some she brought messages 
from her mother, and they were always received 
gratefully. Horace caught very little of what was 
said by either herself or the prisoners, but he thought 
that her passage along the corridors was like a fresh 
breeze from outside which must leave behind it a 
better atmosphere for at least a little while. At any 
other time he would have been stirred by different 
emotions, particularly by his aversion to having her 
there at all, but his one desire now was to find Hav- 
ilah, and he set aside other feelings. As soon as 
they were satisfied that she was not in the prison, 
Rachel and Horace made an excuse to leave it. 

Rachel announced her intention of going to Scipio’s 
on the chance of finding Havilah there, and, in any 
case, to bring Diana away. Horace proposed to 
visit the other jails and places in the city where 
there was any probability of finding Havilah. But 
first they returned to the Anti-Slavery Standard 
office, that they might act under advice and avoid 
wasting either time or energy. 

At the office Horace repeated the questions about 
which he was so urgent, but was unsuccessful in 


350 


RACHEL STANWOOD. 


obtaining satisfactory answers. He made notes of 
the questions upon a slip of paper which he gave to 
Kachel to take with her to Gowanus, and made it 
a matter of vital importance that she should write 
down with precision such answers as she might ob- 
tain, and not trust simply to her memory. She 
thought he was unnecessarily careful in his direc- 
tions, but it was very delightful to have a commis- 
sion from him, and she received his instructions as 
seriously as he gave them. She asked when he 
would tell her why the questions were so important. 
He smiled and said it depended entirely upon how 
the answers suited him. 

While it was common for fugitive slaves to meet 
with kindness from the lower classes of white people 
in the North, they often encountered the reverse. 
In the families of abolitionists the attitude of white 
servants toward them was sometimes more than un- 
friendly, it was antagonistic and even dangerous. 
The abolitionists were intolerant of “ prejudice 
against color,” as they called it, and if it existed 
among their white servants, it was generally con- 
cealed, excepting in the presence of its victims, where 
it was displayed with all the more "bitterness because 
of its repression at other times. At the Stan woods’, 
the other servants were nearly always recognized sin- 
ners who were supposed to be making an effort to 
reform. Some reformed and some did not. Those 
who did, and even those whose efforts were sincere, 
but who were less successful in accomplishing the 
desired result, generally regarded fugitives as less 
fortunate than themselves and were pitiful. But 


TRACING FOOTSTEPS. 


351 


the others, who made both sin and repentance a 
profession, regarded the negroes as an inferior, 
degraded class, and rejoiced in an opportunity of 
showing and maintaining their own superiority by 
small persecutions and petty tyranny. 

Fugitives were humble and patient, as a class, 
and, in their abounding gratitude to those who har- 
bored them, would submit uncomplainingly to much 
injustice. It was a lighter order of injustice than 
slavery had imposed upon them, but it was of a novel 
kind and therefore hard to bear. We often bear 
with heroism a heavy burden to which we are accus- 
tomed, but rebel against a trifling one which makes 
the heart ache, ever so little, in a new place. To 
be treated as if their color were contaminating was 
an experience which many of the negroes had to 
come north to meet with. 

To Havilah the lesson came particularly hard. 
She was proud and sensitive, and the last year’s ex- 
periences had embittered her. Until Mr. Suydan 
purchased her, she had lived in Virginia, having 
been, since childhood, a part of a fine estate there. 
Its proprietor was the only master whom Havilah 
remembered. Both he and his wife were kind, to 
indulgence, to their slaves, and Havilah had been an 
especial favorite with them. She had been married 
in their parlor to Frederick Moore, another part 
of the estate, and they had lived happily in the 
lodge, at the entrance to the grounds, until — - until 
their master failed and the estate had to be sold ! 
The slaves were bought mostly by speculators, one 
of whom took Havilah and her child to Delaware 


852 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


and sold them there to Mr. Suydan. Frederick 
became the property of a Mississippi planter. Hav- 
ilah realized then what slavery meant. Mr. Suy- 
dan was a hard master, and Havilah had to suffer 
and to see others suffer under a kind of tyranny 
which was new to her. She could have endured 
much more if it had not been for her child, but she 
lived in terror lest her little Diana should be treated 
with cruelty or, worse still, torn from her. After 
about six months she resolved to escape with the 
child, and devoted all her skill to discovering a way. 
Harriet Wilson, whom we have learned to call Del- 
phina, had been an especial victim of Mr. Suydan ’s 
harsh treatment, and she united her skill with Havi- 
lah’s until at last the three had escaped together. 

But the taste of liberty was not so sweet to Havi- 
lah as it was to Delphina. There was mingled with 
it the consciousness that her husband could not 
share it and that, for him, there was no such alle- 
viation as she had in the companionship of their 
child. He could not even have the comfort of 
knowing that they had escaped. The farther north 
they came, the farther Havilah felt they were from 
the possibility of getting tidings of him. It was 
this thought which made her anxious to postpone 
going to Canada. Through the past summer months 
she and Diana had been living with some friends 
of the Stan woods at their farm on the Hudson 
Iliver, near Newburgh. Diana had greatly im- 
proved in health, and, in the restful quiet of the 
season, Havilah had recovered something of her old 
condition of peace. She never forgot that her 1ms- 


TRACING FOOTSTEPS. 


358 


band was still a slave, and the possibilities of 
what he might be suffering made, in the stream of 
her life, a continuous undercurrent of pain. Her 
friends kept up her spirits with the hope of discov- 
ering where he was and the prospect there might be 
of buying him, as Scipio had been bought. To this 
end Havilah saved her earnings, and the incentive 
to work cheered her more than anything else did. 

But autumn had come and with it no news of 
Frederick. She felt that now was the time for her 
master to renew his search for Diana and herself. 
With the possibility of his doing so, Diana was 
again sent to Scipio and Peggy. 

It was natural for negroes to herd together. In- 
stead of fearing that a colony of them would be 
regarded by slave-hunters with suspicion and would, 
therefore, be a dangerous hiding-place for fugi- 
tives, the feeling was strong among colored people 
that it was their safest refuge. There, whatever 
happened, they would stand by one another. Ex- 
cepting abolitionists, they were often suspicious of 
everybody else. Their strongest faith was in their 
own people. 

Kachel Stanwood and Horace Desborough were 
not the only people who had seen Mr. Suydan and 
Tibbie MacClare together. Havilah had seen them 
first. On the evening before, just after she had 
stepped down into Friend Holly’s area, with the note 
which she was taking to Mrs. Holly, Mr. Suydan 
and Tibbie passed by under the street-lamp in front 
of the house, and Havilah recognized them. She 


354 


11ACHEL STAN WOOD. 


was afraid to go out in the street again, after giv- 
ing the note to the servant. So she made a pretext 
of wanting to look for something in her purse by 
the light in the front basement. As soon as Jane, 
Mrs. Holly’s girl, went upstairs with the note, 
Havilah purposely opened and closed the front door 
noisily, to make it appear that she had gone out, 
hurried through the entry into the yard, and hid 
herself under the vines in the corner. She knew 
the Hollys’ girl and was afraid of her. Jane was 
aware of the negro blood in her veins, and treated 
her accordingly. Havilah wondered, in case Mr. 
Suydan rang the door-bell, what Jane would tell 
him. She strained her ears listening for the ring. 
It did not come, but it was as well that she did not 
return to the street, for Tibbie was pointing out, on 
their evening walk, places of special interest to Mr. 
Suydan, and, after passing a little farther along, 
returned with him to show him exactly which one of 
the houses belonged to Mr. Holly. It was unneces- 
sary trouble, for the city directory furnished the in- 
formation. 

Although Havilah had only seen Mr. Suydan and 
Miss MacClare in the instant when they had passed 
under the gaslight, she perceived more than Rachel 
and Horace did the next morning, even with the full 
light of day and in treble the time. The antagonism 
which had existed between Tibbie and herself caused 
her mind to leap at once to the conclusion that the 
girl had betrayed her. She also saw in her mind 
something far worse than Tibbie as a traitor — she 
saw Tibbie as a mistress ! Her mistress ! Diana's 


TRACING FOOTSTEPS. 


355 


mistress! For, if Tibbie were not already Mr. Suy- 
dan’s wife, she was assuredly going to be. She had 
hung upon his arm and looked up at him as only 
wives or lovers look. Diana’s mistress ! Again 
Havilah could see Tibbie when she struck Diana that 
day long ago, at the Stanwoods’. Havilah had 
seized her arm then, made her cower, and told her 
she “would never do that again.” Now? Hav- 
ilah’s mind saw Tibbie strike little Di again and 
again and glory in the act, while it was she — Hav- 
ilah — who cowered down before her and had no 
power to defend her child ! It should not he ! 

Havilah, crouching in the corner under the vines, 
thought with the keenest power given to a woman’s 
brain — the power of a mother who sees her child 
in danger. She put aside her passion, her terror, 
every personal feeling, and concentrated her intelli- 
gence upon devising a plan by which she could save 
Diana. 

The person at the piano in one of the houses 
banged at “The Maiden’s Prayer,” voices talked 
overhead, Jane fastened the kitchen door and win- 
dows for the night, Ole Bull played, stopped, and 
played again ; but Havilah sat on the ground mo- 
tionless, her knees drawn up and her arms crossed 
over them, with her eyes straining into the darkness, 
and heard no sound. Long before the violin was 
silent she knew what she was going to do. 

She had no thought of asking help of the friends 
who were within her reach. They would urge her 
to wait until morning. More than that, they might 
prevent her from carrying out her purpose. They 


856 


RACHEL STANWOOD. 


might save her, while her master and Tibbie were 
carrying off Diana. That was the thing which 
should not be; Havilah would get to Diana first. 
And she knew just how she was going to do it. 
Piece by piece, she got down the clotheslines, and 
then she knotted them, carefully and firmly, into 
loops which would serve as steps in climbing the gates. 
She knew all about those gates; to get over them 
she would need two ladders. Mentally she reviewed 
the way by which she meant to go, from the outer 
gate on Second Avenue to Scipio’s house in Gow- 
anus. No bit of memory, no quality of her mind, 
failed her. More than Diana’s life was at stake, 
and it would not do to blunder; every particle of 
her intelligence was at her command. If she should 
be pursued, she might have to deviate from a direct 
course, but she would not lose her head. Before 
she climbed to the top of the wall, she pointed her 
mind toward Scipio’s shanty across the river, and, 
whatever happened, she would keep it there with 
the steadiness of a compass. 

The two men whom William Hedges and Horace 
Desborough had overheard talking as they went by 
the cemetery gate were in the employment of Mr. 
Suydan, whose suspicions had centred upon Friend 
Holly’s as the place where Havilah was secreted. 

Tibbie had made the discovery that the child was 
at Scipio’s, and she had tried to persuade Mr. Suy- 
dan to watch the little shanty, with the chance that 
Havilah would visit it. But Suydan was afraid of 
missing his prey by waiting for such a possibility, 
and considered it safest to keep his eyes upon the 


TRACING FOOTSTEPS. 


357 


houses of Friend Holly and Mr. Stanwood. He 
thought it the part of wisdom, however, to leave 
Diana undisturbed until he should learn where 
Havilali was, as taking the child would cause Hav- 
ilah’s protectors to guard her with more security. 

It was Havilah whom the officer, Horace, and Will 
had seen at the beginning of their chase. Will did 
not reason as to why he thought that the person es- 
caping was a fugitive slave, beyond the fact that she 
had started from Friend Holly’s. The old Quaker 
gentleman had helped away so many slaves that it 
was safe to assume that this was another. But the 
thought of Havilah did not enter Will’s mind until, 
stopping early in the chase to look back, he saw 
the fugitive, behind the pursuers, dart across a patch 
of moonlight and run in an opposite direction from 
them. He saw then that the person whom they 
were chasing was a woman, and the thought that pos- 
sibly it might be Havilah came into his mind. 

When she reached the end of the pier, Havilah, 
looking down at the water, had seen a place where 
the shadow jutted out blacker than anywhere else, 
and had made a desperate leap for it. It proved to 
be the end of an old scow which was moored under 
the wharf. It dipped as her weight touched it, or 
she would certainly have been seriously injured. 
As it was, the intensity of her purpose made her 
unconscious that she was badly bruised. She was 
too desperate to be sensible of pain. She crawled 
from the scow to a beam and from there saw Will 
when he climbed down to the lower tier of logs. 
The plashing of the tide and bumping of some loose 


358 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


logs against the pier prevented her from hearing 
what the young men said to each other. She waited 
until they went away and then managed, by climb- 
ing and crawling, to work herself to a place from 
which she could again get up to the surface of the 
dock. From there she had gone cautiously, limp- 
ing her way along, sometimes hiding for a while, 
keeping as near the shore as possible, until she 
reached a ferry. There she waited and watched 
until some other passengers came to take the boat. 
She followed in the line with them, and paid her 
fare without observation. On the Brooklyn side of 
the river she asked boldly, of one of the loungers 
about the ferry, the way to Gowanus. She knew 
Scipio’s cottage well, and had had it in mind so 
often as a possible refuge that she knew its location, 
and was not obliged to make any further inquiries. 
When she reached it, she searched for some nook 
where she could hide until morning, and climbed 
through the window of the mule’s shed. “ Willum” 
proved to be the only competent detective whom she 
encountered in her flight, and summoned his master 
to take care of her. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 


ANSWERS TO CERTAIN QUESTIONS. 

“Oh, Miss Rachel, yo’ don’t know what yo’ ’re 
asking ! I ’ye come to the end of my journey now 
and I can’t go any farther; ef he chooses to come 
yer fo’ me, let him come! He’ll find me, ef he 
comes. Ha! ha! ha! he ’ll find both of us, and — 
we ’ll be ready fo’ him! ” 

Havilah’s laugh grated harshly upon Rachel’s 
ear; it would have been less painful to hear her 
sob. 

They were in the parlor of Scipio’s shanty, where 
Peggy had left them while she prepared something 
for Rachel to eat before going away. The latch of 
the kitchen door rattled with the fumbling of a small 
pair of hands on the other side of it. The door was 
pushed open, and, heralded by a large yellow cat and 
the savory odor of something cooking, Diana came 
into the parlor. The cat ran to rub his sides against 
Havilah’s chair, purring loudly and evidently ex- 
pecting a treat from Diana, who was carrying two 
very small pies on a tin plate. As the cat intimated 
his expectations by suggestive mews and rearing 
efforts to smell the pies, Diana held the plate above 
the reach of his nose and said in her sweetest tones: 
“No, Santy Ann, zey ain’t fo’ yo’ ’t all; yo’ ’ll have 


860 


BACHEL STAN WOOD. 


to wait till bimeby. I made zese pies all fo’ Miss 
Waycliel an’ my mamma.” 

Setting the plate upon a table beside her mother, 
she looked at it with her head on one side, lost in 
admiration. Peggy had twisted Diana’s hair into a 
womanly knot on the crown of her head, turned up 
the skirt of her dress and pinned it behind, making 
her look like a diminutive charwoman. The child’s 
eyes sparkled with the fun of playing “cook,” and 
her cheeks were rosy from the heat of the stove. 
She offered a pie first to Rachel, and was pleased 
with her thanks, which were adapted to the occasion. 
She carried her other pie to her mother, with a 
coaxing manner, showing a doubt as to its being so 
acceptable. 

“Tas’e it, mamma, tas’e it!” she said, pinching 
off a bit and putting it to her mother’s lips. “ Aun’ 
Peggy says de pies zat little gells makes is de bes’ 
pies fo’ muzzers.” 

Havilah put her arm around the child and bent 
over her a moment. 

“That’ll do; it is very good, but mamma can’t 
eat any more now, darling,” she said tenderly. 
“Leave it yer on the table fo’ me, won’t yo’? ” 

“I ’ll set ze table, an’ mamma can have a party! ” 
Diana exclaimed joyfully. For a few minutes she 
danced about, between the kitchen and where her 
mother was sitting, bringing such odds and ends of 
little dishes and ornaments as she could find to suit 
her fanciful idea of a party, and made an array of 
them upon the table. 

When she retreated to the kitchen to concoct a 


ANSWERS TO CERTAIN QUESTIONS . 361 

pudding for “the party,” and closed the door, Ra- 
chel seized the opportunity, while Havilah was under 
the softening influence of Diana’s pretty attentions, 
and said, in a tone of entreaty : “ Come now , Hav- 
ilah! Come, before anything happens to change 
,poor little Di’s happiness into trouble! Come for 
her sake ! ” 

But the hardness came into Havilah’ s face again 
and she set her hands upon the arms of her chair 
with a determined gesture while she said: “It ’s for 
her sake I’m going to stay yer, Miss Rachel. Yo’ 
are very good, and Mr. Desborough is very good to 
take so much trouble fo’ Di’ an’ me. When yo’ give 
him the answers to those questions, tell him I thank 
him for caring so much, but I ’d rather he ’d give 
it all up. He is only going to waste his time and 
strength and may be bring trouble on himself. 
Tell ” — She stopped as if she suddenly decided 
not to say something else. Rachel took up her 
words and pleaded : — 

“ But he can bear the trouble, Havilah, better than 
Uncle Scipio and Aunt Peggy can, and he has more 
strength than they have. I don’t know of what use 
these answers are, but I know that he will be dread- 
fully disappointed if I don’t take you and Diana 
back. If he had thought it at all likely that I 
would find you here, he ’d have come too. He is 
doing nothing now, Havilah, but look for you. 
They are all looking for you, and, if you go back 
with me, it will save trouble for them and may be 
for Uncle Scipio and Aunt Peggy too! ” 

But Havilah would not yield. With a look which 


362 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


was at once sad and gentle, but also firm as a rock, 
she said, — 

“Uncle Scip and Aunt Peggy are my people, 
and Hi’s people, Miss Rachel. We are the same 
race ; we know how to suffer for one another, and 
we can do it better than you can. That is what 
we are made for. I don’t want to bring trouble on 
Uncle Scip and Aunt Peggy, but, if I can’t help it, 
they won’t grudge me a little.” 

“And we would not either, Havilah,” Rachel said 
earnestly. “We would all take a great deal to help 
you.” 

“Oh, I know that! I know that! Yo’ have done 
it and” — Havilah exclaimed and stopped again. 
There was something in her mind which she did not 
mean to say to Rachel. She clasped her fingers 
tightly around the arms of her chair and set her lips 
together. She did not look at Rachel any more; 
when she spoke, her eyes looked coldly, straight 
before her, but they looked without seeing. 

“Yo’ and yore folks have done more than yore 
share, more than yo’ ought, and the time has come 
for that to end too,” Havilah said in a low tone. 

Rachel was distressed. She felt that Havilah 
ought to go away with her, and that, if the right 
things were said, she would be persuaded. But 
Rachel could not think of the right things. She 
felt like crying because she could not move Hav- 
ilah. Havilah ’s last point about her family hav- 
ing done too much in her behalf, pained her, and 
she pleaded against it. But to no purpose. Had 
Rachel been older, she would have been alarmed 


ANSWERS TO CERTAIN QUESTIONS. 363 

at the stony expression of Havilah’s face and the 
awful quietness of her manner when she said at 
last : — 

“It is n’t of any use, Miss Rachel, fo’ yo’ to try 
to get me to go away from yer. I am going to stay 
yer. Yo’ don’t know what I have got to do if” — 
And there she came against that thing in her mind 
which could not be spoken. Rachel did not under- 
stand anything except Havilah’s unwillingness to be 
any longer a burden and anxiety to those who had 
protected her hitherto. 

Peggy, busy with her cooking, and troubled be- 
cause Rachel could eat so little of what she pre- 
pared, did not observe Havilah’s manner. To her 
it seemed only the result of strain and exhaustion. 
She did not share any apprehensions as to the safety 
of Havilah and Diana in the shanty. She was bet- 
ter pleased to have them remain, and Rachel could 
not make her feel any indications that they would 
be molested. 

“De Africans ain’t nebber b’en ’sturbed yer,” 
she said, and explained carefully to Rachel how all 
the persecutions which those of the colony had 
suffered had been confined to attacks in the street, 
on their way to and from labor. “An’ all dem has 
been furder away, down in de city, ’mongst de pop- 
palation,” she argued contemptuously. “Yo’ doan 
’speck de kin’ o’ folks w’at hits at a man in de dahk 

— an’ dat ’s jes’ de kin’ Hab’lah’s massa b ’longs to 

— yo’ doan ’speck dem to come whar dey ’ll fin’ 
’nough Africans togedder to defen ’ ’emselves, does 
yo’, Miss Rachel? H’m! ” 


864 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


Rachel reached home late in the afternoon and 
had scarcely taken off her things when Horace Des- 
borough appeared. He was amazed and excited to 
learn that she had found Havilah. She began re- 
gretting her inability to bring the mother and child 
back with her, but Horace scarcely listened, and 
interrupted her to ask if she had obtained the answers 
to those questions he had written. She gave him 
the slip) of paper with questions and answers upon 
it and watched him while he glanced hastily over 
them. He was so excited that the paper shook in 
his hands. 

“The answers do suit, then! ” she said, as she saw 
his face light up. 

“I think so — I believe so! ” he exclaimed joy- 
fully. “But I must not stop — good-by ! ” 

He was in a hurry to go, and she did not try to 
detain him. “Then I will wait to understand,” she 
said, and held out her hand for his good-by. He 
saw his joy reflected in her face, and, seizing her 
hand, bent suddenly over it and kissed it. 

“Forgive me! ” he said, but added immediately: 
“No — don’t! Wait a minute ! ” 

He let go of her hand, stood before her erect, and 
with a touch of the old haughtiness of their first 
acquaintance, said: “Miss Stanwood, one of the 
first things you knew about me was of the part I 
had taken in — I called it then restoring a man’s 
property to him; I call it now depriving another 
man of his liberty. I cannot undo that act. But I 
have made a compact with myself that I will be the 
means, if it is in my power, of helping to give what 


ANSWERS TO CERTAIN QUESTIONS. 365 


I was once the means of helping to take away. If 
I can prevent Havilah’s master from taking her ancl 
her child back into slavery I shall feel a little as if 
I had atoned for my first act, and — and a better 
right to ask you never to forgive what I could not 
" help just now. Good-by ! ” 

He held out his hand, and she put hers into it, 
unable to speak. He did the most difficult thing 
he had ever done in his life — he gave her hand 
only a little pressure and left her. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


MISS GRAYTHORN EXPLAINS THOROUGH-BASS TO 
GRACE DESBOROUGH. 

Eor a time the promise which Grace Desborough 
had made to her lover, “to live her best and be as 
happy as she could,” bolstered up her courage. She 
went about with her father and mother, sight-seeing 
and to hear music, and they were delighted with her 
and with their own wisdom in getting up this plan 
of foreign travel which was going to straighten 
everything out so beautifully. In August they were 
joined, at Neuchatel, by the Riverston family and 
Miss Graythorn, who was traveling under their pro- 
tection. 

Miss Adele Graythorn was, to those who were in 
search of amusement, an attractive little person, 
with dull chestnut hair, dark eyes, pale complexion 
and a laughing mouth. She was nineteen, gay, 
witty, and careless. She insisted upon having a 
happy atmosphere about her, even if she had it all 
to make herself, and her wit, which was as good- 
natured as it was sharp, helped effectively to pro- 
duce it. She made fun of everything and every- 
body, in a thoughtless, easy way, and tossed aside 
vexations and annoyances as carelessly as she threw 
away her letters. Things lighted upon her as but- 


MISS GBA YTIIORN EXPLAINS. 


367 


terflies light upon flowers; and, when she brushed 
them off, they left no traces. Her coquetry, of 
which she had plenty, had a sparkle to it which made 
it vastly amusing. But it was shallow and rarely 
injured anybody. Mr. and Mrs. Desborough were 
delighted to give her a welcome, and felt that her 
company was certain to assuage all Grace’s pangs 
of homesickness and unwholesome longings. The 
company of Burton Riverston was to supplement the 
beneficent influences of travel and Miss Graythorn. 
Nothing could have been more fortunately arranged, 
and if the end of it all should be an attraction be- 
tween Grace and Burton, so much the better. 

The Desborough parents made no effort to bring 
about such a result and did not at all set their hearts 
upon it. It might, or it might not happen, that was 
all. They observed that Burton enjoyed getting 
Grace by herself, when foreign ideas of propriety 
made it easy, and that their conversation seemed to 
be interesting to both, in a natural, wholesome way. 
It was just as well that they did not get their 
hopes of a serious result worked up, for there was 
another point of view from which to consider Grace’s 
and Burton’s interest in those talks, and there was 
also another young lady in the party who was to be 
taken into the account. 

When Burton Riverston appeared upon the scene 
it was not his personality, but the American atmos- 
phere which he brought along with him, which did 
Grace good. He told her much about the firm of 
Hedges & Desborough, their cosy office, especially 
the inner room, called private, and ostensibly used 


368 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


for consultations and confidences with clients. Bur- 
ton was often in it and helped to keep up appear- 
ances for the firm by passing himself off as a client 
before occasional visitors. He made Grace’s old 
merry laugh ring out with his stories, and it was 
music to the ears of her father and mother. Then 
Miss Desborough was Miss Stanwood’s friend, and 
that fact supplied them with another theme which 
seemed inexhaustible. They exchanged no con- 
fidences, and talked only on the surface of their 
subjects, but what they had to say interested no- 
body but themselves, and they enjoyed each other’s 
sympathy. Burton’s helped Grace to wait more pa- 
tiently for Will; Grace’s helped Burton to learn to 
do without something he had tried for and failed to 
win. Before he left America, Rachel Stan wood had 
refused him. 

But Miss Graythorn was not the girl to help 
Grace and Burton to win each other. Burton was 
the only available young man in her vicinity, and 
she wanted him for her own use. He was rather 
dull, had grown serious, and, so far as all entertain- 
ing qualities went, could not hold a candle to young 
Desborough, Grace’s brother. But Horace was out 
of favor with Miss Graythorn at present. He had 
been bewitched by that pretty Quaker girl, turned 
fanatic, thrown away his prospects, and was sending 
himself after them as fast as he could. Here, in a 
foreign land, with his courteous manners and good- 
natured unselfishness, Burton Riverston showed to 
advantage; Miss Graythorn enjoyed his society and 
did her prettiest to make him enjoy hers. The 


MISS GRA Y THORN EXPLAINS. 


369 


Rotherwells and Percival Grays, from New York, 
appeared at the principal hotel, and he was immensely 
useful doing duty as escort. Miss Graythorn went 
everywhere with them, and Burton attended her 
faithfully. As she and Grace liked his society for 
such different reasons, their interests did not clash, 
and they got along very well together. Poor Miss 
Clementina Riverston would have been rather left 
out in the cold, if it had not been for Grace, who 
kept her company at home. Mrs. Riverston and 
Mrs. Desborough adopted with enthusiasm the for- 
eign ideas of propriety and bore down upon the girls 
(they included Miss Clementina as one also) with 
an amount of matronizing which was oppressive. 
The chaperon business was carried on briskly, and 
to the two elder ladies was a most interesting study. 
When Mrs. Riverston addressed her daughter and 
Miss Graythorn as “you girls,” in the presence of 
Burton, however, the effect of the study was some- 
what marred. Burton laughed. It was a little 
cruel to his sister to do it, but he was taken by sur- 
prise, and his mother used the expression in giving 
some advice so -unsuitable for a young woman of 
Clementina’s mature years that it was irresistibly 
funny. “It was awfully mean of him,” Miss Gray- 
thorn said to Grace afterwards, “when we were both 
trying so hard to look like contemporaries! ” 

It is very easy to be a heroine for a while, and 
Grace performed the part very well through the 
summer. But after Burton Riverston left the party 
to join a comrade who was going to Zermatt to see 
the Matterhorn, and there was nobody to talk with 


370 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


about the firm of Hedges & Desborough, it began 
to be hard to keep up her cheerfulness. Eloise was 
sent to a boarding-school in Lausanne about the 
middle of September, and Grace missed her. Since 
that time when Eloise had interfered with the waiter 
and carried Will’s violets upstairs, Grace had felt 
a little bond of sympathy between her sister and 
herself which she had never known before. The 
poor girl was deprived of the one thing which she 
wanted, and it was useless to try and make anything 
else answer in its place. 

Grace read her fan diligently. It helped her to 
“live her best,” but it was a poor kind of best. 
She heard regularly from Horace, but, by tacit con- 
sent, he and she avoided writing about Will and 
herself. He was afraid of adding to her loneli- 
ness and his letters gave only what was of general 
interest. Occasional phrases about the firm in- 
formed her that Will was in good health, that was 
all. Such sentences as: “The firm is well and able- 
bodied — ready for clients,” and “If not on the top 
wave of prosperity, the firm yet holds its own,” — 
gave her the only tidings of Will which she received 
from her brother. After the Rotherwells and Perci- 
val Grays had gone, Miss Graythorn, deprived also 
of a young man to play with, had to exert herself to 
create that cheerfulness upon which she was depen- 
dent. Grace’s low spirits bored her, and it was 
hard to do any thing with Miss Hi vers ton. Miss 
Clementina was very mature for her years ; with 
every desire to hold on to her youth, she had not the 
least knowledge how to do it. It was certainly 


MISS GRAY THORN EXPLAINS . 


371 


hard upon Miss Graythorn and she derived much 
credit for her efforts to improve the atmosphere. 
u 01emmy is a hard case,” she said to Grace. “If 
she would accept herself just as she is, she ’d do well 
enough. Thirty is not had. When I ’m thirty, I ’m 
going to blossom into womanhood with charming 
effect. If Clemmy would take herself at thirty, and 
not try to be an anachronism, she ’d be all right.” 

Her light-hearted talk made Grace laugh, and 
supplied the party generally with considerable cheer- 
fulness, so that they managed to reach September 
almost comfortably. But by that time Miss Gray- 
thorn desired a change. She could easily have per- 
suaded the Riverstons to travel, but she did not care 
to be separated from Grace, who, dull as she was, 
was better than “Clemmy.” The result was that 
they all went to Paris, where they set to work vigor- 
ously to enjoy all the gayety possible. 

“ Whoever he is , being miserable is n’t going to 
prove your loyalty to him ! ” said Miss Graythorn, 
in Grace’s room at Hotel. 

She had determined to give Grace a good shaking 
up, and this was her way of beginning it. Grace 
stood upright and looked aghast at Miss Graythorn. 
Miss Graythorn sat at the opposite side of the 
centre-table, leaning her elbows upon it and looking 
with mischievous eyes over her clasped fingers at 
Grace. She had been sitting so for some minutes 
while Grace was trying to write to Horace. 

“You needn’t look as if earthquakes were com- 
ing,” Miss Graythorn said, not moving except to lift 
her chin and rest it on her fingers. “That is all I 


372 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


know, and I ’m not going to know any more, unless 
I ’m driven to, and I ’m not going to tell anybody 
else tliat I know even so much. Sit down again, 
beloved, and pale off. I ’ve got something to say.” 

Grace was as red as a peony. She sat down and 
said in a vexed tone: “I don’t think you had better 
say it, Adele ; I ’d rather talk about something else.” 

“Oh no, you would n’t! ” said Miss Graythorn, 
unperturbed. “Or, I should say, whatever you 
might prefer to talk about, you much prefer to think 
and listen about — him ! ” 

Grace turned her face sharply toward Miss Gray- 
thorn with interrogative dismay upon it. 

“Hm — hm! I said so,” said Miss Graythorn. 
“Wait and listen to what I ’m going to say. Don’t 
worry — you ’ll like it so much that you ’ll be sorry 
when it ’s over. Now, now! Be careful! — I don’t 
know any more than I said I did. So don’t expect 
any news, or messages, or anything of that kind. I 
don’t want you to flutter. I am going to talk com- 
mon-sense, and you won’t take it in if you go to 
fluttering. Common-sense tells me there is a fellow 
somewhere, and that is all I want to know. Oh-h ! 
Is n’t it delicious! How I do wish he was mine! ” 
She rolled her cheek over on one of her clasped 
hands and smiled as if she saw a vision. 

Grace could not help laughing as she said, “Oh, 
what a goose you are, Adele ! ” 

“Oh no, my love! It is you who are the goose,” 
said Miss Graythorn. “I don’t want this particular 
one, you know; wouldn’t take him as a gift. But 
I ’d like one of ’em to — to waken up me being, stir 


MISS GRAYTHORN EXPLAINS. 


373 


me feelings, play upon me heart-strings — No, he 
need n’t do that either — I’d play on his — but I ’d 
like him to touch the chord, you know, as unmis- 
takably as it is touched within your ” — 

“You said you were going to talk sense,” Grace 
said, laughing again. “It would be exciting to hear 
a little of that from you. When is it going to 
begin?” 

“Ah! ” exclaimed Miss Graythorn, dropping her 
hands on the table. “Now I ’ye got her, and we can 
start immediately. Get up! So-o! Quiet, now! 
Quiet! There ! We ’ll go along at a nice little trot 
to begin with, because I want you to hear all I ’ve 
got to say. You must n’t miss a word, dear, for it 
is true what I told you — I am going to be perfectly 
charming! ” 

She left the table and sat down on the floor, fold- 
ing her arms across Grace’s lap. 

“You see,” she said, “I ’ve had a great deal of 
practice and I know all about it. That ‘playing on 
heart-strings’ and ‘touching the chord’ was n’t origi- 
nal; I know pages of those things, all by heart. So 
you must remember that I am a person of experi- 
ence, and this is what I want to say: — There ’s a 
Fellow. He has won Grace Desborough. Whoever 
he is, he is in luck, because he has won her for good 
and all. She is in luck, because he is the kind of 
fellow who knows the heart-strings and chords to 
perfection — they call that in music, ‘Thorough- 
Bass ’ — just for the sake of brevity, we ’ll say that 
he understands Thorough-Bass. Very well! Now 
since those facts are unalterably settled, what is the 


374 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


use of being miserable? What is to be gained by 
it, either way ? If he was like a lot of others from 
whom I have had lessons in Thorough-Bass, he 
might n’t keep, and if you were like me you would n’t 
care to wait for him — but — Good Heavens ! If 
anybody is blind enough not to see that the fellow 
who has reduced you to your present condition is 
warranted well seasoned, fine make, best quality — 
why that person is doomed to discover the truth. 
And as for you, my belief is that, if you don’t look 
out, those heart-strings of yours will break and 
then where will be any use for all his Thorough- 
Bass? 

“ Now that is ‘firstly ’ and ‘secondly ’ and as 
many more points as you choose to make it. But 
there ’s a ‘finally ’ to come, and this is where I am 
going to be charming. I said I was n’t going to 
know any more unless I was driven to. If you go 
to mooning yourself sick, I shall feel driven ! There ! 
Yes, I will! I ’m not afraid of anybody, and I 
shan’t care who gets mad. My strings are good 
and tough. If I see an occasion for it, I ’m going 
to know all I want to, and to write all I want to to 
just whom I please, and all Paris won’t stop me ! 
There ! Now I ’ve said my say, and if you choose to 
go on dying of saintliness, you ’ve had fair warning 
and you know what ’ll happen ! ” 

Miss Graythorn’s hands were clasped over Grace’s 
knees ; she rested her chin upon them and the very 
mischief was in her eyes as she looked up and asked : 
“Ain’t I lovely?” 


CHAPTER XXV. 


IN THE NAME OF THE LAW. 

After Rachel left the little shanty in Gowanus, 
Peggy tried to rouse Havilah from her depression, 
and it was then that she observed for the first time 
a difference in her manner. She had settled into 
a silence which had something unpleasant in it. 
Peggy could not make it out. She wondered if 
Havilah regretted her decision to remain with her 
and Scipio, or whether her conversation with Rachel 
had only deepened the gloom of her spirits. As it 
grew dusk, Peggy went often to the door to see if 
Scipio were in sight. Coming back from her last 
look down the street, she was pleased to find Hav- 
ilah in the kitchen, apparently waking to an inter- 
est in what was going on about her. 

“I want to do something,” she said. “No matter 
what — let me help get supper fo’ Uncle Scip.” 

u Dat I will, honey; yo’ can fix de taters fo’ me 
to fry,” said Peggy, setting a chair by the table and 
getting out from the cupboard such things as were 
necessary for the purpose. “Ef on’y I can fin’ my 
tater-knife,” she said, looking in various places 
for it. 

“Oh, never mind that; a common one will do,” 
said Havilah, sitting down. 


876 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


“Reckon it ’ll have to dis time,” said Peggy, 
handing her a dinner-knife. She still rummaged a 
little, anxious to make Havilah’s work easy and 
pleasing to her. “It ’s a pity, ’coze I ’s got sech a 
nice leetle sharp-p’inted knife puppose fo’ veg’ta- 
bles,” she said, giving up the search. 

“This does nicely,” said Havilah, cutting the 
parings deftly. In a moment or so she leaned back 
to see, through the connecting doorway, what Di- 
ana was about in the other room, and not seeing her 
immediately, with sudden nervousness called her 
name and half rose to go after her. 

“ Laws, Hab’lah ! Set still an’ leab de chile Tone,” 
said Peggy, and putting down a pan with some flour 
in it, she went into the parlor, contradicting herself 
as she went, sajdng: “I ’ll bring her in yer, whar yo’ 
can keep yo’ eyes on her.” 

She brought a foot-stool also and settled Diana 
on it, with her work-basket and doll beside her. 
“Dah!” she said. “Sit yer, Di, honey. Dat ’s a 
lady ! Now string all dem buttons on dis piece o’ 
fred an’ make yo’ mudder de pittiest necklace she 
ebber had, an’ tell her yo’ ’grees wid ole Aunt 
Peggy dat she ’s nerbous cose she ’s had a heap too 
much to t’ink ’bout dis day, an’ her min’ better take 
a res’. Dat ’s so,” she said to Havilah. “Ef yo’ 
spen’ all de time t’ inkin’, yo’ min’ ’ll git used up 
an’ yo’ won’t have any ob it left, jes’ de time w’en 
yo’ wants to use it de mos’. 

“I ’m done thinking ,” Havilah said quietly, and 
she set her lips together. 

“Well, dat ’s de bes’ way,” said Peggy, not ob- 


IN THE NAME OF THE LA W. 377 

serving the emphasis and proceeding to make some 
biscuit. 

Scipio came home, and before long they all sat 
down to supper. During the meal Peggy told her 
husband about Rachel’s visit, while little Di’s tongue 
kept up an accompanying prattle about the party 
Miss Stanwood and her mother had had in the par- 
lor, and the beautiful pies she had made for it with 
some of Aunt Peggy’s dough. 

After the supper dishes were put away, and the 
kitchen fire left to go out, Peggy settled herself in 
the parlor, with a pile of Scipio’s socks to darn, and 
Havilah drew a chair up beside her to help. In 
spite of the assertions which she had made repeat- 
edly as to the safety of Havilah and Diana here, in 
the colony, Peggy had grown more and more uneasy 
as evening approached and almost wished that she 
had encouraged her visitors to go home with Rachel. 
She was unusually particular about the windows, 
closed the shutters and drew down the shades so that 
no one from the outside could see into the lighted 
parlor. As an excuse, she complained of draughts 
and rheumatism. She opened the doors leading into 
the kitchen and bedroom, on the pretext of getting 
sufficient air in that way, but it was really that she 
might hear if anybody came to the kitchen door. 
But Diana was in gay spirits. She engaged Scipio 
in a frolic in which she induced him to represent a 
whole menagerie of animals. She often flung her- 
self against her mother, laughing and trying to ex- 
act sympathy by claiming her protection from the 
creatures which Scipio represented. But Havilah 


378 


RACHEL STANWOOD. 


gave the child no answering laugh, and was silent 
through all the play. 

Peggy looked at her now and then, over the rims 
of her silver spectacles, and did not like what she 
saw. Havilah worked at one of Scipio’s blue cot- 
ton socks without knowing what she was about. 
She sat upright, bent forward as if she was ready 
for a spring, and when Peggy spoke, or Diana 
came bounding upon her, her eyes moved quickly 
to one or the other with an intense, expectant look. 
Yet she did not understand what Peggy said, or 
what Diana wanted, and she worked at the stocking 
without needle or thread. 

Once she caught the child in her arms and laughed 
in a way so far from being merry that Diana ex- 
claimed, “Oh, don’t!” 

“Don’t what, my darling?” Havilah asked, put- 
ing her down. 

“Yo’ hurts Di,” the child said, freeing herself. 
“An’ yo’ looks Tightened.” Then with a shout she 
cried: “Oh, Uncle Scip! Mamma ’s Tightened at a 
lion! Be ze lion some mo’. See, mamma!” mak- 
ing a parade of her courage, “ Di ain’t af’aid; he ’s 
a good lion ! ” 

It was not fright upon Havilah’s face, although 
it well might have been. For outside the shanty 
two men were walking back and forth, trying to 
find some opening at the lighted windows through 
which they could peer in at the frolic. There was 
no need of being cautious, with Scipio’s imitations 
of the roar of lions and Diana’s laughter sounding 
as loud as they did. If one of the men had not 


IN THE NAME OF THE LA W. 


379 


stepped into Peggy’s pet rosebush and made its 
branches scrape against a pane of glass, close by 
where she sat darning stockings, their presence 
would not have been suspected. But Peggy, hear- 
ing the scratch, held her needle with its thread 
drawn out, at a full stop, until the rosebush, re- 
leased, sprang back into place and made another 
sound against the glass. 

Peggy put down her work and went quickly into 
the next room, where there was no light, to look 
out of a window. She saw no one, but in a moment 
heard voices talking in the dark. She could not 
hear what they said, because of the noise Scipio 
and Diana were making. 

“O Lawd, dey ’s come!” she thought, and hur- 
ried back to the parlor with her hand lifted to com- 
mand silence. But before she could make herself 
observed, a loud knock at the front door made her 
husband and Diana suddenly silent. Peggy could 
hear her heart beat. 

“ Open in the name of the law!” said a man’s 
voice outside. Havilah sprang like a savage at Di- 
ana. Peggy caught the child away from her mother’s 
reach and smothered her cry against herself. She 
pointed to the stairs and whispered to Havilah : “ Go 
up dah, fo’ yo’ life! ” Then she carried Diana out 
through the kitchen. 

“Go, Hab’lah, go! ” Scipio gasped. 

“No!” said Havilah, standing, white and rigid, 
her right hand upon her bosom. 

“Open in the name of the law!” said Suydan’s 
voice outside, roughly, with another knock. 


880 


EACHEL STAN WOOD. 


Havilali brushed Scipio aside with the strength 
of a man, and herself unfastened and flung open 
the door. She stepped back to allow her master 
and another man to enter the room. The stranger 
closed the door behind them, and for a few seconds 
there was not a sound. Then Havilah, standing 
in her motionless attitude, with her hand upon her 
bosom, said in a dreadful whisper, her eyes upon 
Suydan’s face: “Uncle Scipio, I want Di. Give 
me my child ! ” 

“Yes, give her the child!” said her master. 
“There is no help this time. They are coming with 
me now, and it depends on how quiet they are 
whether we put bracelets on the woman or not. Do 
yo’ hear that, Havilah?” 

The other man interposed, saying in a persuasive 
tone: “Of course she’s coming quiet. If there 
ain’t any struggle, what’s the use of bein’ rough? 
It ’s plain ’nough she ain’t goin’ to have anything 
of that kind, ’cause she understands the law. So,” 
to Scipio, who stood by the kitchen door, “if you ’ll 
just allow me to pass into that room beyond, an’ 
give us another light, Mister, I ’ll ” — 

“Hold on! Hold on, ef yo’ please, a minute,” 
interrupted Scipio in a pitiful quaver, barring the 
man’s passage. “We wants to see de rights ob de 
case, an’ I ax yo’ to show de paper w’at gibs yo’ 
de claim.” He felt that it was only delaying what 
had to be, but he must do what he could. Suydan 
handed him a paper, and invited him to move aside 
from the door. Scipio turned pitifully from Suydan 
to his companion, while the paper shook in his trem- 


IN THE NAME OF THE LAW. 881 

bling hand. He did not look at it, but said, help- 
lessly: “Dey ain’t nobody yer — Peggy ain’t yer, 
but, ef she was, it wouldn’t make no difference — 
dey ain’t nobody yer dat can read de paper, on’y 
Hab’lah.” 

Suydan roared with laughter, the other man join- 
ing him. “Ha! ha! ha! Read it to us, Uncle, 
read it! ” said Suydan. “We ’re listening.” 

Scipio ignored the two men for a moment. Hold- 
ing the paper in one hand and pointing to it with 
the other, he said to Havilah, with the infinite pathos 
of helplessness: “Hab’lah, pore gell, w’at ’s on dis 
bit ob paper means eberyt’ing in yore life, to yo’ 
an’ yore chile. Ef dey ’s any kin’ ob wrong state- 
ment yer, den dese men has n’t got de right fo’ to 
take yo’ an’ lill’ Di ’way. De bes’ frien’s we has 
got of’en tol’ us dat. Can’t yo’ read de paper, pore 
chile?” 

Havilah did not move. Her eyes never left her 
master’s face. But she said, in a husky voice: 
“There ’s no need to read it — he ’s got the right. 
He ’s got the right to take us, and it is that man’s 
duty to help him. If I make trouble, they can put 
the irons on me. But the gentleman was right when 
he said we ’d go quietly.” Her right hand stayed 
upon her bosom ; with the other she felt for the door 
of the kitchen. “I ’ll get the child, gentlemen, 
and yo’ ’ll see how quietly yo’ can take us both 
away! ” 

But the man who was acting as constable barred 
her passage, saying: “We can’t let you out of our 
sight, ma’am. I ’ll get the child.” He passed into 


t 


882 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


the kitchen, struck a light and searched through all 
the little rooms for Diana. He went up the stairs 
and looked into every corner. As it became mani- 
fest that Diana was not in the house, Suydan became 
excited and angry. He could not join in the search 
and leave Havilah to escape. She was very pale 
and trembled violently. Scipio, in great distress, 
tried to make her sit down and repeated again and 
again, to comfort her, “Oh, Hab’lah chile, de Lawd 
won’t let it las’ forebber!” while he went to one 
door or another to see where the constable was look- 
ing, and returned again, unwilling to leave Havilah 
alone with Suydan. Peggy came back, by way of 
the kitchen, just after the constable had told Suydan 
that the child was not in the house. Both men 
turned upon Peggy and demanded to know where 
the child was. 

Peggy threw her arms around Havilah and an- 
swered their question to her. “ Hab’lah ! Hab’lah ! ” 
she cried, “Yore chile ain’t yer ! Dey can’t tech her 

— she ain’t yer! ” 

“God save her, then! ” cried Havilah with savage 
joy. She flung Peggy’s arms away from her with 
sudden violence, there was the flash of a bright blade, 
and then Havilah reeled and fell upon the floor. 

As they bent over her, she whispered : “ Take me 

— now — I ’m ready — to go qui — ” and then she 
knew no more. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 


ANOTHER LAW. 

• 

Horace Desborough’s first brilliant achieve- 
ment in his profession had been in the bringing to 
light of a point of law which had been overlooked 
by Messrs. Gray thorn and Benderly and by the use 
of which they had won an important case. Beside 
other issues, the decision of the case secured to their 
client a valuable slave. In recognition of Horace’s 
services they had advanced his position in their 
office and, in commendation, Mr. Benderly had said 
to him these words: “Your discovery of this point 
has aided, not only in our main success, but it has 
helped largely in the establishment of a principle. 
Your vigilance has resulted in an act of justice by 
which our client’s property is restored to him.” 
Horace had never come into personal contact with 
either the client or the property, and had, for a time, 
enjoyed his distinction and reward. His pleasure 
in them began to diminish very soon after his ac- 
quaintance with Rachel Stan wood began, but since 
his experience at the time of Havilah’s rescue at 
the Anti-Slavery Fair, he had realized more and 
more the awful injustice of holding property in 
slaves, and those words of Mr. Benderly’s rang now 
in his memory with discordant echoes which were 


384 RACHEL STAN WOOD. ± 

exceedingly painful to him. As his feeling for Ra- 
chel grew warmer, his memory of that “ act of jus- 
tice ” became more distressing. He longed to make 
some atonement, to redeem it by aiding in the es- 
cape of fugitives, and it seemed to him now that, 
if he could be the means of giving their freedom to 
Havilah and her child, he could stand before Rachel 
Stan wood like'a king. The paper containing Hav- 
ilah ' ’s written answers to his questions gave him all 
the facts which he wanted. When he left Rachel, 
he neither saw nor heard anything, as he walked 
rapidly along the street. He seemed to tread upon 
air, and, while he held the paper in his left hand, 
which he thrust inside of the breast of his coat, he 
gesticulated unconsciously with his free arm and re- 
iterated, under his breath: “Free! Free!” Could 
Miss Gray thorn have seen him, she ’d have thought 
him mad. 

The answers Havilah had written gave Horace 
what seemed to him the very crown of victory. 
They told him the circumstances under which she 
had been purchased by Suydan, and Horace recog- 
nized from them the fact that she and her child were 
entitled to their freedom, by the law of the State 
in which Suydan had bought them. The law pro- 
claimed, “That if any person or persons shall, after 
the passing of this act, bring any negro or mulatto 
slave into this State, for sale or otherwise, the said 
negro or mulatto slave is hereby declared free to all 
intents and purposes.” Horace knew every word of 
it by heart, and now what he had hoped for was true ! 

Havilah and Diana had both been sold under cir- 


ANOTHER LAW. 


385 


cumstances distinctly prohibited by the law, and 
Suydan had no rightful claim upon them. This 
was the golden bit of knowledge which Horace Des- 
borough had all for his own, to carry to Havilah, 
and to return with afterwards to Rachel. He trod 
the ground like a monarch. His only fear was lest 
Havilah’s master might reach her first and make 
off with her and Diana, before any one could stop 
him. If he should be armed with an official warrant 
for their arrest they would have to go with him. 
And, until he molested them, there was no legal step 
to take. Horace bent his steps toward his lodgings, 
that he might get Will Hedges to go with him to 
Friend Holly’s first of all. Friend Holly had helped 
away so many fugitives that he would understand 
how to meet every difficulty, and there was not a 
minute to spare for a blunder. 

Will had not come home and Horace went next 
door to find Friend Holly. But the old gentleman 
had gone to Newark, with Friend Morton, on im- 
portant business, and would not be home until late. 

Horace returned to wait for Will, fuming at the 
delay. Will did not arrive for what seemed an eter- 
nity — half an hour — and then was aggravatingly 
cool. He wanted to understand the facts and Hor- 
ace’s authority for the statement that Havilah and 
Diana were free, before starting on their errand. 
Horace was impatient under his questioning and 
wanted to explain on the way. 

“We might risk that, if we had Friend Holly 
with us, but we are poor substitutes for him, let me 
tell you,” Will said. 


386 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


“Your coolness is maddening!” Horace ex- 
claimed. “There are Havilah and her child in the 
man’s clutches, for all you know, and your con- 
founded slowness is giving him time to get away 
with them.” 

“Old fellow, it ’s the coolness that is going to help 
us most,” said Will, examining his purse. “Got 
plenty of cash?” 

“Yes — no! Jupiter!” Horace ejaculated, as he 
went upstairs three steps at a time for a supply. 

“We don’t want to find ourselves on the Brook- 
lyn ferry-boat with a newly discovered clog at our 
wheels,” Will said, as they closed the front door 
behind them. If you ’ll take my advice and pack 
your feelings down in ice before you start on this 
business, you ’ll have a better chance of success; 
but if you ’re going to take ’em with you hot, that 
kidnapper may get the better of you.” 

“That may be practical, but it ’s not human,” 
said Horace. “I ’m not so thunderingly sure that 
it is practical, either; I believe in meeting a fellow 
like that on his own ground. George ! I wish I had 
throttled him that night at the fair.” 

“I am glad you reserved him for this,” said Will. 
“ But look here, we ’ve had no dinner — we ought 
to” — 

“Hedges,” said Horace, indignantly, “if you can 
sit down and eat your dinner, with the thought of 
that poor woman, why do it; but I propose to” — 

“Hold up there! ” Will shouted, hailing an omni- 
bus. They climbed to the top of it, and, when they 
had settled themselves, W ill paid the fares and re- 


ANOTHER LAW. 


387 


marked to the driver: “It depends upon how soon 
we get to the ferry whether it ’s half a dollar or 
less when we get off.” 

“All right. I ’ll give yez double that, if I don’t 
git yez there inside half an hour,” the driver said, 
whipping up the horses, while Will was saying to 
Horace : “You ’ve got to keep coal on the fire if you 
don’t want it to go out; I am not cold-blooded 
enough to want dinner, but we may be in for another 
fox-hunt like last night’s and I want myself to use. 
If we see a glass of milk we’ll nab it — that’s 
all.” 

“You ’ve redeemed yourself with that offer of 
bribery and corruption,” Horace answered. 

The rattle of the stage and roar of street noises 
were so great that whatever they said had to be 
shouted in order to be heard. Consequently they 
did not try to talk at all until they were in the 
ferry-boat, and there they said little. 

When they reached the settlement at Gowanus 
they perceived at once some evidences of excitement 
which alarmed them. The people were outside of 
their shanties, gathered into groups, and there was 
among them an indescribable atmosphere of trouble 
pending. As the young men drew near, every one 
whom they passed turned to look at them. They 
caught various phrases as they hurried along. “Be- 
gorra, they ’re light weight for cunstables, so they 
are ! ” came with a shout from a knot of men, and 
then followed, from one group or another, of white 
or colored people, such remarks and exclamations as : 
“Mebby dey ’ll stan’ by ’em! Dey mought help! ” 


888 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


“Detictives ! It’ll be aisy now.” “Tell ’em!” 
“No, cion’ trus’ ’em ! ” 

It was too dark for Will and Horace to distinguish 
the colored from the white people until they came 
near. As they did so they heard crying and piteous 
sounds here and there. “What is it?” they asked, 
but did not wait for an answer. Scipio’s cottage, 
standing apart from the others, looked dark. In 
answer to Will’s knock, Peggy opened the door 
almost instantly. 

“Massa Will ! Oh, bress de Lawd fo’ sen’in’ 
yo’ ! ” she exclaimed in a husky voice, and, grasping 
his arm, she almost dragged him into the room. 
The poor woman trembled from head to foot and 
looked suspiciously at Horace, whom she did not 
recognize. Will covered her hands with his own 
and tried to reassure her, saying: “He ’s a friend, 
Aunt Peggy — the best friend Havilah has got in 
the world. Where are Havilah and Di ? Where ’s 
Uncle Scip? ” 

Horace, too, said, in suspense: “Where is Hav- 
ilah ? We ’ve come to save her ! Are we too late? ” 

Peggy tried to speak, but her voice would not 
come. She drew Will toward the adjoining room, 
her lips moving with Havilah’s name. 

An exclamation of horror burst from the young 
men as they saw the motionless figure of Havilah 
stretched upon the bed. Horace was the first to 
bend over it. 

“What has happened?” he cried. “In God’s 
name try to tell us who ” — He could not finish, 
and pointed to Havilah. 


ANOTHER LAW. 


389 


They had to wait until Peggy could speak. She 
had been strong and self-possessed through all the 
terrible scene ; but now, in the presence of sympathy, 
she had broken down. Will Hedges helped her to 
a chair and comforted her as patiently and gently as 
he would have comforted his mother. Presently 
she told them, brokenly and in a high, strained 
voice, what had happened: “Dey come fo’ her an’ 
de chile — bofe. I got de chile ’way — ober to de 
neighbors. W’en I come back dey was tryin’ fo’ to 
take her. Fo’ to take Hab’lah — an’ she done it! 
She hed my — knife! She” — Trying to tell 
about it restored Peggy to consciousness of the pres- 
ent moment and its terrible necessity. She threw 
herself upon her knees by the bed, bent over Hav- 
ilah, listened to her heart, and then began to bathe 
her face with camphor, rub her hands and make 
every effort to restore her. “ It ain't done ! ” she 
cried in an awful whisper. “It ain’t done! " She 
straightened herself on her knees, looked up at Will 
and appealed to him in an agony : — “ Oh, massa 
Will! Massa Will, tell me w’at to do! Dey ’s 
huntin’ her chile ! Dey ’s cornin’ back yer, w’en dey 
fin’s her ! An — an’ dey ’s life yer." Her hand was 
on Havilah’s breast. “Dey ’s Life fightin’ wid de 
Lawd fo’ de mudder, an’ I'm ’prayin' f o' de Lawd 
to heat fore dey comes hack! " 

“No! No, Aunt Peggy !” cried Horace. “Don’t 
pray for that ! Save her if you can ! Save her to 
tell her she is free and that her child is free ! Make 
her know just that, while I go bring ” — 

Horace tore out of the cottage with the words 


390 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


upon his lips. He staggered in the darkness, hut 
soon made his way to a point where groups were 
gathered around one of the shanties. There was 
such a confusion of voices that for some minutes 
Horace could get no one to listen to his questions, 
hut at last he learned that a slaveholder and a con- 
stable were in the shanty and were expected every 
moment to come out of it with a slave child for whom 
they were searching. 

“They ’ve caught the mother, and they ’ve got her 
safe in irons wid a guard over her, in there,” a man 
said, pointing to Scipio’s. “The hack’s waitin’ at 
the earner, an’ yez can jine the crowd in escartin’ of 
thim ” — 

Horace forced a passage for himself into the house. 

Inside there was a pitiful scene. Scipio, in the 
centre of it, was trying to quiet the convulsive sobs 
of little Di, who was clinging to his neck with all 
her strength. Three colored people — two men and 
a woman — were hopelessly trying to plead for the 
child’s liberty; to get Mr. Suydan to listen to their 
proposal to buy her and their promises to pay for 
her in installments. “We can get heaps o’ money 
by takin’ collections, an’ we ’s got savin’s too,” the 
woman urged. 

Mr. Suydan was demanding that the child be at 
once handed over to the constable, who was attempt- 
ing to take Diana from Scipio. 

Horace made his way to them and laid his hand 
upon Scipio’s shoulder. “Back!” he commanded 
the constable. “You are breaking the law! The 
child is free ! ” 


ANOTHER LAW. 


391 


His voice rang out loud and clear. 

There was a burst of indignation from Suydan, and 
a united cry of deliverance from the colored people, 
mingled together. 

Suydan broke out in wrath about his right to his 
property, his order for the arrest of his slaves, and 
the danger there was to any one who interfered. 
Horace faced him with a repetition that the slaves 
were free, and contested until explanation was pos- 
sible. He demanded to see the warrant for the 
arrest of Havilah and her child. Suydan answered 
by questioning fiercely Horace’s right to interfere. 
Scipio said beseechingly : “ Is dat true w’at yo’ sade ? 
Is de chile free f Fo’ de Lawd’s sake, don't say it, 
ef it ain’t true ! Fo’ de Lawd’s sake, don’t, Massa ! ” 

The other colored people in the room were silent, 
following with intense anxiety every word of the 
speakers. Diana’s sobs made an incessant monotone 
of grief. 

“It is true! ” Horace said. “The law made both 
mother and child free the day this man bought 
them in ” — 

He was interrupted by Suydan ’s imprecations, 
demands for proof, and assertions of his claims. In 
the midst of the altercation Will Hedges appeared. 
With quieter force he demanded to see the warrant 
which Suydan had shown to Scipio. Suydan did 
not produce it and claimed that it was nobody’s 
business but his own and the constable’s. “ The 
constable had seen it and that was enough,” he 
said. 

Will surprised him by saying quietly: “If he is 


392 


BACHEL STANWOOD. 


a constable!” Then, when Suydan only swore at 
him, without answering, he said : “ It is useless for 
you to fight this question, sir. If you will listen, 
this gentleman and I will explain.” 

Suydan listened at last. Horace quoted the Del- 
aware law and read from a paper the statements 
which Havilah had written as to the time and place 
of Suydan ’s purchase of herself and child. 

“If your warrant is a good one, you can take the 
child,” Will said, “but you will be arrested after- 
wards and have to pay the penalty. Your hesi- 
tation to show the warrant looks as if you might 
prefer to wait and have us arrested, at our office, 
to-morrow. We will produce the child in court when 
we are summoned to do so, and there you will have 
an opportunity to dispute Delaware law.” 

It took a little time to make Suydan, in his 
anger, understand that the two young men knew 
what they were talking about. He was reminded 
by his man, who was not a constable, that the odds 
would be against him “ if the people outside got hold 
of the idea that the niggers were free and saw them 
taken away.” Suydan was less afraid of the small 
crowd outside than he was of the ability of Messrs. 
“Hedges & Desborough,” whose names he read 
upon the card which Will had given him, to make 
subsequent trouble for him. He was liberal with 
rough and angry talk, but finally took his departure 
with his companion. 

After they were fairly out of the way, Will 
Hedges made the simple statement to the people 
outside that the men had labored under a mistake, 


ANOTHER LAW. 


393 


and had discovered that neither Havilah nor her 
child belonged to them. The people gradually dis- 
persed to their homes, some feeling defrauded, the 
negroes elated. The few who were inside of the 
shanty were easily persuaded to avoid the excite- 
ment which might follow, if the fact of the fugitives’ 
freedom were made known to so many people at 
once. 

Before long all was silent in the neighborhood, 
and the only lights to be seen anywhere were in 
Scipio’s shanty. Around the bed where Havilah 
lay, the little company of watchers sat waiting, in 
the hope that a gleam of consciousness would come 
upon her face. At last it came. Havilah’ s eyes 
opened wide and fixed themselves upon Aunt 
Peggy bending over her. 

“Does yo’ know me, Hab’lah? Yo’ knows ole 
Aun’ Peggy?” Peggy asked the question softly, 
but Havilah heard and said after her: “Aunt 
Peggy!” 

“Yes, honey,” said Peggy, in that sweet intona- 
tion which is only heard at the bedsides of the dy- 
ing. “I ’s yer, honey. An’ l’ill Di is yer. She ’s 
right yer, honey — does yo’ see Di, Hab’lah?” 

Peggy gently moved to give her place to Horace, 
who was holding Di in his arms. 

“Tell her — she’ll hear you now,” whispered 
Will, behind him. “It is for you to tell her.” 

“Do you see her, Havilah? Your own child?” 
asked Horace. 

“Di!” gasped Havilah, alarm coming suddenly 
into her face. Horace bent over her with Diana 


394 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


and said : “ Di all safe , Havilah ! And free ! W e 
found it out for you, that you and your little child 
are free. Oh, Havilah, try to hear it ! Try to un- 
derstand it! You are not a slave! Your child is 
not a slave ! You are both free ! ” 

Havilah ’s eyes turned upon Diana’s face. They 
rested there an instant, and her look of alarm 
changed and softened. Horace lifted her hand and 
laid it gently on the child’s hair. “Speak to her, 
dear,” he coaxed. But Diana only began to cry 
softly. 

“Did you hear me, Havilah, what I said?” Hor- 
ace asked again. 

“I heard!” she said faintly, and then, in a mo- 
ment, in a clear voice she cried out : “ Free ! ” And, 
with a radiant smile, and her eyes full upon Horace 
Desborough’s face, she died. 


CHAPTER XXVII. 


“failed?” 

The next afternoon Rachel sat at her piano play- 
ing softly to herself, and thinking. She knew the 
whole story. Will Hedges had come in the morning, 
before going down to the office, and told them all 
about it. He had told it beautifully and had said 
things about Horace Desborough which made Ra- 
chel’s heart swell with pride. She knew it all, from 
beginning to end, and was glad her mother and 
father and she had had Will’s account of what Mr. 
Desborough had done. How would he tell it? He 
would make Will the hero of his story, she sup- 
posed. She smiled over the keys, with her little 
trust of the justice he would do himself. All the 
same she was disappointed because he had not come. 
After he and she had gone to the Anti-Slavery Stan- 
dard office, and to the Tombs, together, and especially 
after he had made such a point of her getting Hav- 
ilah’s answers to his questions, she had fully ex- 
pected him to come and tell her what there was to 
tell. But he had asked Will, as a favor, to come 
up and tell the story to them, as if he preferred not 
to do it himself. She wondered why. Perhaps be- 
cause it was such a pitiful story. Oh, how pitiful! 
I low pitiful ! Rachel stopped playing and covered 


396 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


her face, the horror of it coming over her again as 
it had been coming all day. 

Yes, dreadful as it was, she would rather he had 
come himself. She began playing one of the “ Songs 
Without Words.” A picture came before her of 
Mr. Desborough, after he had taken her hand. He 
had spoken of his longing to do a noble thing as if 
it were a deed of justice — something required of 
him in atonement for a mistake. That was his way ; 
he would think of such an act as of a duty. And 
he had spoken of doing it in order to make himself 
worthy of — She broke off again in her playing, 
unwilling to allow her thoughts to go any farther 
than his words had gone. She put her hand against 
her cheek. That was the hand he had kissed, and 
he had asked not to be forgiven for it! Rachel 
blushed red, all by herself, to remember how he 
said that. He would never have said it, or have 
kissed her hand so, unless — 

Yet it might easily be that he thought of her only 
as of an intimate friend. She was responsible, more 
than anybody was, for his feeling against slavery, 
and he came to her, naturally, with that as a bond 
between them. She responsible ! It was his own 
nobleness — he must have come to it, just the same, 
sooner or later. Of course he must. May be — 
why of course it was possible that he cared for some- 
body else. How could he care for her more than 
for anybody? The thought was absurd. Why, 
Gracie must be a thousand times dearer than she 
could be to him. Poor little Gracie ! If she, Ra- 
chel, could only be in Miss Graythorn’s place, to 


“FAILED?” 397 

take Gracie in her arms and — It used to be 
said that Mr. Desborough admired Miss Graythorn. 
May be that was true. How strange it was to go 
back to those first days of their acquaintance — hers 
and Mr. Desborough ’s ! That evening when they 
first met and he had seemed so grand and distant ! 
She did not like him then, and what was that she 
had said to Susy Morton at the fair, when he called 
Miss Saunders “Mrs. Noah”? She had said she 
despised him ! Oh, how strange to get back to that 
time! Rachel’s fingers were trailing off into idle 
playing, scraps of tunes, interwoven anyhow and 
expressionless; her mind was too far away from 
them to make them mean anything. 

Yes, the girls called him “My Lord Duke ” then. 
The title was not so very far out of the way; there 
was something lordly about him and always would 
be. She had meant then to keep him at a distance, 
but she had not done it very perfectly. What would 
Mr. and Mrs. Desborough think of her? What 
sort of a family commotion was it going to make 
if — Things were different now ; he was a differ- 
ent man. He had dropped the life he was leading 
then, and instead, he was living the best one a man 
could live. He had sacrificed everything for a great 
principle. How grandly he broke with that firm! 
And his father and mother condemned him for it. 
They had left him to be poor, instead of rich. No, 
there was nothing to worry about, so far as they 
were concerned. They had left him to himself, and 
they could have nothing to say now, if she — Her 
heart began suddenly to beat fast ; the bell had rung, 


398 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


and now the parlor door opened and Mr. Desbor- 
ough came in. She could not advance a single step, 
for although she told herself, no matter how many 
times, that it could not be so, she knew perfectly 
well what was coming. 

She had risen and was steadying herself by the 
piano. Horace stood before her looking not at all 
triumphant as she had expected him to, but jaded 
and depressed. He did not even come forward to 
meet her, and the hand she had extended half way 
dropped at her side. He was very pale and looked 
as if he had met with some great disappointment. 

“I was absurdly confident yesterday,” he said. 
“I thought I could do something, but it was a piece 
of conceit — I could n’t. It was too late, Miss 
Stanwood — I failed ! ” 

“Failed?” she asked, with a quick, proud poise 
of her head. “Will has been here and told us all 
about it, Mr. Desborough — how you carried the 
little girl in your arms and ” — 

“Yes, the child is all right, I know,” he said sadly, 
“but,” with a hopeless little gesture, “ I could do 
nothing for the mother.” 

She caught up his words and cried: “ Nothing f 
You call it nothing? You call it nothing to be the 
one person among us all to find out that she was 
free, and that her child, whom she loved more than 
life, a thousand times, was free? You did all that 
anybody could! You saved the child, and, because 
your heart is great and noble, you carried the little 
thing yourself, in your arms, to the dying mother 
and — and made her know at the last that she was 


FAILED? 


899 


free! You took” — Rachel’s sentences came in 
broken phrases now. Her heart felt as if it were 
bursting, and quick, heavy tears were falling over 
her cheeks. “You took the mother all she wanted 
in this world — her child’’ s freedom / And oh, you 
don’t know ! You don’t know ! You call it nothing , 
and you ’ve got poor Havilah’s dying gratitude to 
remember all your life ! ” She leaned over the piano 
and hid her face in both hands. 

Where was any defeat or disappointment? Hor- 
ace looked as if he had won the victory of his life. 

“Rachel! ” He spoke her name very softly, bent 
over her and said: “Then I may ask you now never 
to forgive what I did yesterday? ” 

He took quiet possession of her, but her face was 
hidden still. Presently he asked: “And you do 
not believe me, when I tell you that I have nothing 
to offer you? ” 

“No!” she said, with the quick uplifting of her 
head again. “It is not true! It is not true! ” 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 


miss mac Clare’s popularity. 

Or all the sinners who ever found a refuge in 
Mr. Stan wood’s house, Tibbie MacClare was one 
of the most hopeless. Her story had to grow more 
and more dreary as it went along, and there was no 
help for it. We are nearly at the end of it, and 
will not dwell upon it any longer than is necessary. 
If it had no connection with Havilah, it might have 
been omitted here altogether, as might the stories of 
others who came in and went out through the Stan- 
woods’ door during the same period. But as Hav- 
ilah and Tibbie came together, and each affected 
the life of the other; as Tibbie was the tool which 
presented itself conveniently to Havilah’s master; 
and as he was accountable for this last part of her 
story coming out as it does, we must follow it as 
well as we can. 

After Miss MacClare left Mr. Stanwood’s house, 
it looked, to the casual observer and from all out- 
ward appearances, as if she had greatly bettered 
her condition. She was taken at once by Mr. Suy- 
dan to a hotel in the lower part of the city, where he 
had procured for her a position which was both 
profitable and agreeable. It was that of companion 
to the wife of the landlord, and the salary paid for it 


MISS MAC CLARE'S POPULARITY. 401 

was excellent. It supplied Miss MacClare with a 
wardrobe much more suitable for her, to her own 
thinking, than were the made-over clothes of Miss 
Stan wood, even with Miss Eiverston’s silk dress 
thrown in. And Miss MacClare’s duties were light 
and pleasing. She was in the position of a lady, 
and all that was required of her was that she should 
make herself agreeable to the ladies and gentlemen 
who frequented the house. With her voice, this 
was not difficult. The house was very popular 
through the summer, and its visitors had the advan- 
tage of hearing every evening a beautiful voice sing 
in the most entertaining and attractive way possible, 
without either expense or exertion. They could 
order up their songs, too, as they did their omelettes, 
which was an advantage over more public enter- 
tainments. And Miss MacClare, being at last in 
her element, where she felt she belonged, was most 
accommodating. It was her business to be so now, 
and it was much easier than making beds, dusting, 
and everlasting sewing. She was not teased with 
continual advice and preaching, either. She did 
not have to listen any more to Mr. Kreutsohn’s 
sermons. She remembered the drift of them, how- 
ever, and they served her a good turn very often ; 
for she was an excellent mimic, and worked them up 
into some capital performances, with songs intro- 
duced, for the parlor companies. There were quite 
a number of sketchy little scenes which she made 
up from her experiences at the Stan woods’. She 
collected a fund of them, which were really valuable 
and added much that was amusing to her repertory. 


402 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


There was one noticeable omission in them all — she 
never brought into them any representation whatever 
of a single member of the Stanwood family. She 
had seen plenty of material, but she never used it. 
Mr. Suydan had cut short one of her first perform- 
ances at the hotel by calling for a “ a Stanwood or 
two.” The suggestion acted as an extinguisher on 
Tibbie for the rest of the evening. There was no 
bringing of her back to a mood for merry-making 
on that occasion. 

But the visitors at the hotel got their money’s 
worth, and made much of Miss MacClare. If they 
wanted new songs or imitations, they invited her to 
go with them to the theatre and witness the original 
performances ; and her quick ear, good memory and 
wit rewarded them for their generosity. Mr. Suy- 
dan, who was an occasional visitor at the hotel, 
particularly enjoyed her society, and she regarded 
him as her stanchest and most valuable friend. 
Her gratitude to him was unbounded, and she un- 
dertook with zest the commission with which he 
entrusted her, when he first took her to her present 
home. She was very faithful in her efforts to dis- 
cover for him where Havilah and Diana were con- 
cealed. It was by means of her letters that he was 
saved from wasting time by looking for them during 
the summer; and he returned to the hotel in the 
autumn because she wrote to him that she had taken 
another trip to Brooklyn and seen Diana “ helping the 
old nigger in his garden.” She intimated in the 
letter that, as she knew Havilah could not stay away 
from her child more than a week, or two at a time, 


MISS MAC CLARE'S POPULARITY. 


403 


“ a watch of the nigger’s shanty might easily result in 
trapping both.” Miss MacClare’s advice was acted 
upon. Mr. Suydan came at once to the city and 
showed his gratitude to Tibbie by making love to 
her. Into the little week of this visit he managed 
to put the crown and summit of her happiness. 
That is, he kept her on the summit and promised 
her the crown, in the form of a wedding bonnet. 
For on the day when Mr. Suydan should return 
with his recovered property to Delaware, Miss Mac- 
Clare looked forward to returning with him — not 
Miss MacClare any longer, but Mrs. Lockwood 
Suydan ! 

To make the return triumphant and speedy, Miss 
MacClare devoted herself to aiding in the recovery of 
Havilah and Diana. Early every morning she made 
a trip all the way to Scipio’s shanty and spent hours 
in its neighborhood,* on the watch for a visit from 
Havilah. When Mr. Desborough and Miss Stan- 
wood met her walking with Mr. Suydan on Broad- 
way, she had just returned in hot haste from Brook- 
lyn, and had reported that Havilah and Diana were 
under the same roof, and that the opportunity for 
surprising them had come. Suydan ’s gratitude was 
such that he was taking Tibbie to buy the wedding 
bonnet. It was an act of especial gallantry on his 
part, but he owed something to Tibbie. And, as he 
decided that it would be best to wait until evening 
for his call at the shanty, there was plenty of time. 
And Tibbie was a source of much amusement to 
him ; he did not grudge her the bonnet. 

When the evening came and Mr. Suydan departed 


404 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


on his errand, Miss MacClare was in such gay spirits 
that she entertained the hotel guests in her liveliest 
manner. 

This was to be her last performance, and it was 
certainly her best. The company had everything 
they called for. Tibbie had never been so amusing, 
so clever, or so attractive. She almost looked pretty, 
with a bright color in her cheeks, a glitter in her 
eyes, her animation and high spirits. The people 
who applauded her had no idea that she was going 
to leave them. Oh, no ! They knew nothing what- 
ever about her marriage. That was to surprise 
everybody. Perhaps she would leave a little note 
with the landlady, who would read it first herself and 
then to the company. Or may be Mr. Suydan would 
tell the landlady, just before they went away, and 
leave her to announce her marriage to the others 
as she pleased. It did not make any difference to 
Tibbie — Mr. Suydan might arrange it to suit him- 
self. And Tibbie’s voice rang clear and echoed 
through the rooms with its richest power, the notes 
pouring themselves out of the very gladness of her 
soul. 

“ What was it they were asking ? Was she tired ? ” 
“ Oh no, no ! She would sing anything in the world 
they wanted.” “A scene with the German gentle- 
man? With his organ- 4 woices ’? ” “Oh, yes! She 
never felt more like it. ’ ’ And she never did it so 
well. Her representation was not at all suggestive 
of our dear friend whom Rachel, Betty, and Dick 
Stanwood called “Uncle Pranz Kreutsohn ; ” it was 
an original production of Miss MacClare’s, with vari- 


MISS MAC CLARE'S POPULARITY. 405 

ations suggested by things she had seen at the 
theatre. It was vastly amusing. Miss MacClare 
went from that to another and another scene, with 
songs in between, and charmed her audience into all 
forgetfulness of time. She did not weary them by 
continuing one strain too long; her performance 
was judiciously shaded by an occasional song which 
was serious. Perhaps, however, this was due to the 
company, who called for the songs when they grew 
tired of laughing. For Miss MacClare’ s mood this 
evening was one of unalloyed gayety, and she sang 
“John Anderson ” and “ Auld Kobin Gray ” out of 
pure good nature, not because she felt like it. She 
enacted the latter with particular spirit, mentally 
contrasting the woes of “Young Jamie’s ” sweetheart 
with her own happiness which was to begin to- 
morrow. She wound up the entertainment with the 
cleverest of all her scenes, which she called “A 
Party in Washington Square.” In this scene she 
represented her idea of high life, in its most fash- 
ionable aspect. She assumed the part of hostess 
and guests in turn, and even cleverly introduced her 
own personality, calling, in the character of hostess, 
upon “Miss MacClare to favor the company with a 
song.” It must be confessed that her personifica- 
tion of Mrs. Fiverston was excellent, but that of 
many others was overdrawn, or absolutely original. 
Nobody could possibly have recognized some of the 
abolitionists from her interpretations, and her con- 
ception of a Quaker was as far from correct as the 
comic - paper or minstrel conception of the negro. 
But it made no difference to Miss MacClare ’s audi- 


406 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


ence; they were more than satisfied. When they 
finally released her and separated, it was with over- 
whelming expressions of their obligation and un- 
bounded admiration of her talent. 

And for Miss MacClare, her sense of what the 
morrow was to bring was so exhilarating that the 
very thought of sleep was impossible. She spent 
the rest of the night in sorting and packing her 
things, so that, however early the bridegroom might 
call for her, he would find her ready and waiting 
for him. But there was no need for her so to ex- 
haust her strength; it only paled her cheeks and 
made her head dizzy to no purpose. For break- 
fast time came and was over with, the hours of the 
forenoon dragged slowly by with length that seemed 
interminable, and Miss MacClare’s luncheon was 
brought in upon a tray, yet no bridegroom appeared. 
But there came a message from him. When the 
waiter set down the tray, he handed Miss MacClare 
a letter which Mr. Suydan had left with orders not 
to have it delivered until then. The color and ex- 
ultation came back into Miss MacClare’s face, and 
she waited until after the waiter was gone before she 
opened her letter. It was very short and written in 
a clear hand, but it took her a long time to read. 

It stated that the writer, Thomas Lockwood Suy- 
dan, was then, at the moment when Tibbie would be 
reading his letter, on his way to Delaware, and that, 
unless more of his niggers should run away, it was 
not likely that he would again visit New York for 
some time to come. 

When he did so, however, he would make special 


MISS MAC CLARE'S POPULARITY. 


407 


inquiry for Miss MacClare, at her hotel, and would 
hope for the pleasure of once more listening to her 
wonderful voice and witnessing her remarkable per- 
formances. Mr. Suydan expressed his appreciation 
of her valuable services in his efforts to recover his 
property. He knew that she would regret the fact 
that they had proved unsuccessful. It would not 
be necessary to renew them, however, as the most 
valuable part of his property was beyond reach — 
Havilah Moore having died on the previous even- 
ing — and, as for the child, he had abandoned all 
intention of taking her South. 

In regard to the little ceremony planned for to- 
day, that would, of course, have to be abandoned. 
Indeed, Mr. Suydan made it clear to Miss MacClare 
that it was a plan which he had never seriously con- 
templated carrying out, and which he had invented 
for her amusement. In closing, Mr. Suydan ex- 
pressed his satisfaction in leaving Miss MacClare in 
a position so agreeable and profitable to her, and 
was happy to have been the means of securing it for 
her. 

Tibbie’s face paled again as soon as she began to 
read Mr. Suydan ’s letter, and her color did not re- 
turn. When she had read it all through, she began 
at the beginning and read it again, and then she 
read it a third, and a fourth, and many more times. 
When the waiter came to carry away her tray, she 
was sitting with the letter open before her, as if she 
were still reading it. The waiter left the room 
without her having either seen or heard him. 

Did ever a day drag itself along so slowly? The 


408 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


clock on the mantelpiece clacked away at the minutes 
and was so long in piecing off enough for an hour 
that it seemed as if Time had nothing to do with it. 
Tibbie sat with her letter and left Time to himself. 
She knew the letter by heart presently, for her lips 
moved as if she were repeating it, and she did not 
miss a word. The waiter knocked at her door a 
little after four o’clock, and, as she did not answer, 
came into the room. Miss MacClare was a favor- 
ite of the waiter’s; he enjoyed her performances 
immensely, from the retirement of a china-closet, 
and was assiduous in providing the small properties 
required for them. It troubled him now because 
she had scarcely tasted her breakfast and had not 
touched her luncheon. He found her apparently 
still reading the letter which he had brought to her 
three hours before, and he had to address her several 
times before she noticed him. When she did so, she 
looked at him strangely. He asked if she wanted 
anything. She answered “No,” but she did not 
understand who he was or what he wanted. 

By and by it began to grow dusk, and Tibbie 
turned her head to look again at the man and ask 
why he stayed. She got up and moved about the 
room, talking to him as she did so. She told him 
to hand her her bonnet and veil from the bed, and 
then she got them herself. She asked him to see if 
her trunk was locked, to give her the key to put into 
her pocket, to put her purse and handkerchief into 
the little reticule on the bureau. No, no ! he must 
not touch the letter — she would take care of that 
herself; she would fasten it in the bosom of her 


MISS MAC CLARE'S POPULARITY. 409 


dress for the present. But she wanted the waiter to 
understand once for all, that he was to obey orders 
and do nothing unless he was told to. He might 
hand her the gloves from the top drawer; no — 
never mind the mantle until she asked for it; she 
wished to put her gloves on first ; if he wished to 
retain his position, he must not annoy her by being 
officious. There! Now her gloves were fastened, 
he might bring the mantle and help her arrange it. 
She told him to come over to the mirror, where she 
could see to pin it; he might stand behind her and 
place it over her shoulders — so — that would do. 
Now he might go downstairs and wait for her. 

She was before the mirror, by the window, where 
there was plenty of light to show the reflection of 
her figure plainly. Yet even when she put her 
hands up over her shoulders to take the mantle 
from the man to whom she was talking, there was 
no reflection in the glass of any person beside her- 
self. The waiter went away two hours ago and 
Tibbie was alone ! 

She arranged the mantle and her bonnet ribbons 
very precisely. Her hands fluttered from one part 
of her dress to another, and she felt to see if her 
bracelets and breastpin were securely fastened. Then 
she sat down on the edge of the bed and looked about 
her. The shadows were settling in the corners, but 
it was not dark by any means. Everything was 
distinguishable. Tibbie said over all the things to 
herself — this was the bed, there was the bureau, 
and the lounge, her trunk, and the washstand; there 
was the place on the edge of the pitcher where a 


410 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


piece was chipped out. Tibbie had opened the 
window and a little breeze came in, blowing the 
curtain gently into the room; she watched it shake 
a little and then cling to the window pane above, 
before it swelled out ; when the breeze died away the 
curtain dropped into its place. The twilight deep- 
ened. Tibbie opened the door of her room and went 
into the hall. “No — come back! ” she said to the 
waiter. She would wait until those people had 
gone into their rooms. Now look again, and see if 
she could get down the stairs and out the front door 
without being seen. Yes? Very well, — then she 
would go. 

The waiter was not there, but Tibbie had watched 
for herself, over the banisters. 

The streets were very noisy. Crowded omni- 
buses, carriages, tradesmen’s wagons and vehicles 
of every description were hurrying to deposit people 
and goods at their destinations. Tibbie stepped on 
to the sidewalk, looked up and down at the crowds 
going both ways, and then, with a strained, hurried 
look, as if she were afraid of being late, she walked 
rapidly away. 

The boarders at the Empire Hotel looked in vain 
for Miss MacClare to entertain them on that evening 
and on subsequent ones. They worried their land- 
lady with inquiries and suspicions which reflected 
unpleasantly upon her treatment of Tibbie. They 
came to the decision that the disappearance of their 
favorite was owing to some gross injustice on the 
landlady’s part, and refused to believe that there 
could be any other reasons to account for it. It 


MISS MAC CLARE'S POPULARITY. 411 

was impossible for her to provide anybody who could 
entertain them as Miss MacClare had done, and the 
popularity of the house suffered. Of course the poor 
landlady was blameless, as it had been for her in- 
terest to keep Miss MacClare and to treat her well. 
She tried her best to convince the boarders that she 
had suffered a martyrdom from Tibbie’s whims and 
tantrums, and showed Tibbie’s trunk as proof of her 
own irresponsibility concerning her disappearance. 
But the boarders regarded the trunk as evidence 
that the landlady was keeping unlawful possession 
of Miss MacClare ’s property. One after another 
the visitors left the hotel, which only began to pick 
up its prosperity again with the arrival of strangers 
to whom Tibbie and her reputation were unknown. 

But, although Tibbie’s admirers had lost her for- 
ever, she had another audience who, in a different 
way, profited by her performances. On an island 
in the East River, in an asylum where whims and 
tantrums were dealt with professionally, Miss Mac- 
Clare appeared in a new role. After she recovered 
from a serious illness which afflicted her in the be- 
ginning of her stay there, she introduced herself to 
the inmates and physicians as a bride. Her name, 
she said, was the Honorable Mrs. Lockwood, and 
she made it understood that she was a person of 
great distinction. She expected the Honorable 
Mr. Lockwood to call for her in a few moments and 
would put on her bridal veil immediately, that she 
might not keep him waiting. As she made it a 
matter of great importance, she was allowed to keep 
a piece of mosquito-netting which she had claimed, 


412 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


and to fasten it on her hair to suit herself. The 
occupation of arranging it became a daily one, and 
was so soothing to her that those who waited upon 
her encouraged her in it and provided her frequently 
with fresh pieces of netting. There were many 
occasions when, after her veil was satisfactorily 
arranged, the Honorable Mrs. Lockwood joined 
some of the patients in the parlor where they assem- 
bled for simple entertainments and diversion. She 
would enter the room in a stately way, and greet 
the company as her wedding guests. There were 
times when the character and differences of the 
many whims among the company created unrest and 
discord, and when, at the request of one of the 
physicians, Tibbie would sing Scotch ballads. But 
she would not sing for anybody excepting this par- 
ticular gentleman, whom she mistook for a German, 
and who was, she insisted, her best friend and a very 
famous musician. For him her voice would often 
ring out through the long corridors and, with touches 
of its old passion, would gradually subdue the dis- 
cord and bring upon the torn, unhappy minds a 
spirit of quiet and of peace. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 


THE STANWOOD CODE. 

When Horace Desborough told Mr. Stan wood 
what he had failed so signally in making Rachel be- 
lieve — that he had nothing to give her — the answer 
which he received surprised him. He had expected 
to enter into explanations concerning his ability to 
provide a home and earn a living for himself and a 
wife, but, just as he thought he was stating his case 
finely, Mr. Stanwood cut him short. With a pleas- 
ant smile of conviction Mr. Stanwood said : “ Thee 
need not go into further details, Horace ; I believe 
that a young man who sacrifices the prospect of 
worldly success for a principle as thee did when 
thee left the firm of Graythorn & Benderly, has no 
chance of remaining at the foot of the ladder. Thee 
will climb up again fast enough, and meanwhile ” — 

It was not so easy to say the rest, and Mr. Stan- 
wood shook Horace’s hand in silence until he could 
add: “meanwhile it will be good to keep our dear 
daughter with us.” 

This was new reasoning for a young man brought 
up as Horace had been. “And you, too, trust me ? ” 
he asked Mrs. Stanwood, who sat by knitting. “Yes ; 
thee has proved thyself and we are satisfied,” she 
answered. The little lady had more to say, and that 


414 


RACHEL STANWOOD. 


also was very different from anything Horace had 
expected. In her old-fashioned way, knitting while 
she talked, she said : — 

“I have a Constitution and set of By-Laws to 
offer thee and Rachel, and if you will abide by them, 
I think you will get along : Make your wants few 
and live a day at a time ; that is the Constitution, 
and these are the By-Laws : Keep out of debt, and 
do not borrow trouble.” 

Horace watched her knit a few rows around the 
instep of a gray yarn stocking. She looked so con- 
tented and so — he did not know what to call it — 
Able ? Strong ? Her hands moved with an accuracy 
which seemed unerring: he remembered that Ra- 
chel’s had moved so that evening when he watched 
her knit the little purse which he had in his vest 
pocket. The stitches followed one another with pre- 
cision, and the stocking was sure to come out perfect. 
Horace had never thought of anybody knitting 
stockings excepting old women in the country. His 
mind drew a contrast between Mrs. Stanwood and 
his mother; he wished that his mother knitted. He 
did not care for the stockings, which he thought 
would not be very nice to wear, but the occupation 
of making them looked comfortable. 

“Father Time has a wonderful way of straighten- 
ing things out, if he is only given a chance,” said 
Mrs. Stanwood. 

“I don’t know about that,” said Horace, smiling 
incredulously. “It seems to me that Father Time 
requires a good deal of assistance. What would he 
do without you, for instance ? And I think he was 


THE STAN WOOD CODE. 


415 


getting things pretty well tangled in my case. Don’t 
you think he got me into a pretty dense thicket? ” 

“No; he brought thee through it and showed thee 
a new road out of it,” Mrs. Stan wood said, pleased 
to pursue the simile. “If thee goes on as thee has 
been doing of late, thee will come out of the woods be- 
fore long. And then there is always this to remem- 
ber,” — Mrs. Stanwood took off her spectacles to 
look at Horace while she said, smiling as cheerfully 
as if she saw in those visionary woods the lighted 
palace of fairy tales : “ If thee and Rachel should 
get lost, there will always be home to come to. Thee 
must not forget that now thee, as well as Rachel, 
has thy share of all we have.” And the dear little 
lady went on with her knitting, unconscious of 
having said anything but what was the veriest 
commonplace. 

The Stanwood code was all commonplace, but it 
was new to Horace. He had expected Rachel’s 
parents to meet him with questions and doubts, and 
they gave him only confidence. The fact that he 
had lost his money was to his advantage: had he 
come to offer Rachel the position and income which 
he had sacrificed, the chance was that he would not 
have been accepted. He said to these people, “I 
have lost all I had,” and they ' answered, “We think 
thee has gained, not lost!” Money which should 
come to him now from his parents would be unwel- 
come — almost like charity. 

In deference to Mr. and Mrs. Desborough it was 
deemed best not to make Horace and Rachel’s en- 
gagement public at present. Horace wrote about it 


416 


RACHEL STANWOOD. 


to his father and mother, knowing that they would 
accuse him of folly of the weakest description. He 
wrote at length, but feeling a certainty of its being 
misunderstood, of the unselfish attitude of the Stan- 
woods. To Grace he gave his full confidence, 
claiming her sympathy. In both letters there was 
the unmistakable evidence of his purpose. He might 
have to wait, perhaps even for years, but Bachel 
Stan wood was to be his wife. That there was any 
opening for objections or protest, on the part of his 
parents, was not hinted at. He wrote to them from 
an attitude of entire independence. He took a less 
aggressive standpoint than they might have expected. 
He added more of his old confidence than he had 
assumed since their differences. He wrote frankly 
what money he was earning and what prospect he 
had of earning more, and there was in his letter no 
trace of an expectation that they would help him. 

On the contrary his pride of independence was so 
evident that it made interference with it impossible. 
Enclosed in his letter was one from Bachel to Grace 

— the first she had written since Grace had gone 
away. She had felt herself under the disapproval 
of Mr. and Mrs. Desborough and had withdrawn 
from her intimate relation with Grace as soon as she 
knew that the girl was to be taken away to Europe 

— “out of harm’s way,” as she called it. 

Bachel had not the power to do things by halves ; 
her opinions were positive and her natural force of 
character led her to extremes when it came to action. 
Mr. and Mrs. Desborough thought that she was 
accountable for their children’s abolitionism, out of 


THE STAN WOOD CODE. 


417 


which grew all their troubles — - Horace’s abandon- 
ment of his position, Grace and Will falling in love 
with each other. They were going to take Grace 
away to cure her of one folly, at least, and Rachel 
would step aside and let them try it. That was 
her reasoning. So she allowed Grace to go away 
without a word about the whole matter, and left 
to her all the moves as to letter -writing and confi- 
dences. 

Grace had not made them, of course. She could 
stand by her principles, but she could not do any 
more. She would be an abolitionist and she would 
be faithful to Will until she died, but she could more 
easily give up her rights, when it came to details, 
than fight to keep them. So, between herself and 
Rachel, there had been no communication beyond 
such occasional messages of friendship as were con- 
veyed in letters to and from Horace. 

When Horace showed Rachel the letter which he 
wrote to his father and mother, she recognized the 
strength of her position toward his sister and wrote 
a simple little note expressive of sisterly feeling. 
It was a trial to her not to express more, but she 
had a restraining consciousness of Mr. and Mrs. 
Desborough’s eyes reading her note. Her heart 
went out to Grace, though, with an abundance of 
new tenderness and an intense desire to help 
straighten things out, that she, too, might have her 
share of joy. If Mr. and Mrs. Desborough could 
only know the truth about Will, what a fine fellow 
he really was, they would feel comfortable about 
Grace. Any girl in the care of Will Hedges would 


418 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


be so safe, and so sure of happiness. Rachel won- 
dered if her mother could not write to Mrs. Des- 
borough and so put matters that they would be clear. 
Her mother was so wise, so clear-sighted, and had so 
much power in smoothing troubled waters. If she 
wrote, it might help all four young people and do 
wonders toward a general reconciliation. Rachel 
consulted Horace about it, but he was at once op- 
posed to anything like overtures coming from the 
Stanwood family. His ideas of conventionality were 
rigid in the matter; his father and mother must 
first send a proper message of welcome to Rachel. 
After that there would "be time to consider a next 
step, but until then he meant to support, as well as 
he could, the dignity of the Stanwood family. 

It was just as well for him to take that position, 
for family dignity was not much thought about by 
the Stanwoods. Poor Mrs. Stanwood knew nothing 
about the conventional methods of maintaining it, 
and the proprieties which Horace clung to bothered 
her. To her thinking, right was right and wrong 
wrong ; if they made a study of how to pursue the 
one and avoid the other, dignity and propriety would 
take care of themselves. But she settled down con- 
tentedly to abide by the clause in the family Con- 
stitution, “ Live a day at a time,” and did not 
write. 

Burton Riverston returned to America during 
September, and surprised his friends by setting 
vigorously to work to find something to do. He 
also surprised the Morton family by making a call 
upon them and telling them boldly of his purpose. 


THE STAN WOOD CODE. 


419 


He was very frank, very honest, and very simple 
about it. 

He said he was very tired of loafing and was go- 
ing to try work for a while. He showed his simpli- 
city by repeating his call on various occasions and 
singling out Susy Morton as the special recipient of 
his confidence. 

Burton was not in search of a field to conquer, in 
place of the one which he had lost; he wanted sym- 
pathy and encouragement, and was making rounds 
of visits among his friends in pursuit of both. He 
was not the kind of fellow to be held up entirely by 
his own mettle; he needed propping. And he hit 
upon Susy as a good prop. Susy did not know that 
she was a prop at all, but her innocence made her all 
the better for the purpose. 

She commended Burton for being ambitious to go 
into business, thought it would agree with him, and 
asked him if he had picked up the idea in Europe, 
or if it was original. He told her honestly that 
Miss Stanwood had given it to him, before he went 
away. Burton could not avoid talking about Miss 
Stanwood, when an opportunity offered; he was not 
the kind of person to bottle up his woes. His open- 
ness was a safeguard and helped him in getting over 
his disappointment. Susy thought, — 

“ I wonder what effect it will have when you learn 
that she ’s ‘bespoke ’ ! ” She asked him about his 
travels. He told her all about the good and bad 
hotels to stop at, the poor coffee and accommoda- 
tions at Zermatt, the dreadful weather and low rates 
of cab-hire, and finally settled down to what Susy 


420 


EACIIEL STANWOOD. 


wanted, an account of the Desboroughs, with details 
concerning Grace. 

Susy had to work to get at facts, because of Bur- 
ton’s absorption in himself and his scheme of going 
into business. What interested him about Miss 
Desborough was that “ she was so nice to talk to.” 

“ I must be that too,” thought Susy, but she asked 
aloud what they talked about. And it was in this 
way that she found out about those talks between 
Grace and Burton, and decided that Grace was sat- 
isfactorily homesick. 

“Then she was always there, you know,” Burton 
said. “The others were sight-seeing a good deal, 
and the Percival Grays and Rotherwells carried Miss 
Gray thorn off all the time. They had everything 
their own way, you know, and I had to take my 
chance of seeing Miss Desborough when I could 
get it. Miss Graythorn is pretty clever at planning 
things, but then she just followed the lead of the 
Rotherwells and Grays — I beg their pardons, the 
Percival Grays. When either of those families is 
about, it is pretty sure to rule the empire, you 
know, Miss Morton.” 

“Why?” asked innocent little Susy, looking for 
her emery. “Are the Percivals and Rotherwell 
Grays anybody in particular?” 

Burton Riverston looked at her as if he could not 
believe his ears, and then went off into a fit of 
laughter. He said, when he could speak, that he 
would give the price of a Grisi and Mario opera-box 
to hear her ask that question in the hearing of his 
mother and Mrs. Desborough. Then he informed 


THE STAN WOOD CODE. 


421 


her that “if she would take several gallons of the 
richest part of the Cream of Society and boil it down 
to about a thimbleful, she would get a concentrated 
essence called Rotherwell or Percival Gray.” 

“And to think of your getting their names 
twisted!” Burton said, laughing again. “I 
wouldn’t have missed that for anything. But let 
me warn you to be careful, Miss Susy. If you alter 
either of those names by so much as a letter, or 
drop out a part, as I did, you ’ll make the hair of 
New York society stand on end. We must both be 
careful. I promise never to tell that you did one, 
and you must never tell that I did the other, will 
you?” 

“I don’t meet the kind of people to tell,” said 
Susy, biting off her thread. Screwing up her eyes 
to see better while she threaded her needle, she 
added: “We don’t care who people are. I never 
see the cream of society, except by accident, and 
then I don’t know it. It ’s only the milk which 
finds its way here.” 

The thread went through the eye of her needle at 
last, while he was laughing again at her. 

“That violet hidden somewhere under a mossy 
stone can’t compare with her in innocence,” Burton 
thought, and decided that she was the freshest, 
most entertaining girl he had ever known. 

“Didn’t Miss Desborough go anywhere?” she 
asked. 

“Not if she could help it; she was used up, I 
think,” Burton said. “I don’t think she was well 
— Europe doesn’t seem to agree with her.” 


422 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


“Pining! ” thought Susy, with satisfaction. She 
wanted Grace to pine, if that was the only way to 
bring her father and mother to reason. 

On his way home Burton laughed by himself at 
the simplicity of Miss Susy Morton. “Oh, mother 
and Clementina! ” he said to himself, “what would 
be your feelings if you knew that a Riverston was 
recognized as 4 only milk ’ ? And may be skimmed, 
at that? What a trump she was, not to know she 
had said it ! ” 

Susy was quite as simple - minded as Burton 
thought her, concerning the milk of society, but 
she had serious designs working up in her busy 
mind. When Burton called again she drew him 
on to talking more about Grace, until she felt con- 
vinced that Grace was homesick and lonely enough 
to prove her entire fidelity to Will Hedges. That 
was the point which concerned Susy. She was very 
fond of Grace Desborough, but Grace was nothing 
to her in comparison with William Hedges. Will 
was like a brother to Rebecca and Susy Morton. 
He had lost his parents when he was a little fellow, 
and Mr. and Mrs. Morton had stood in their places 
for him. His mother had been Mrs. Morton’s 
sister. So Susy’s interest was enlisted in Will’s 
behalf, and she made up that simple mind of hers 
that she had a right to show as much feeling as she 
chose. She decided to express it in a letter to 
Grace, and she was going to compose it with ex- 
treme care. She was not going to hurry about it, 
and she set to work gathering her material with 
deliberation. If Miss Gray thorn had any serious 


THE STAN WOOD CODE. 


423 


intention of entering the lists as champion of this 
pair of lovers, she would have to he quick about it, 
that is, if she wanted the field to herself. 

The crisis in the story of Havilah came, and with 
it came Susy’s decision what to write to Grace 
about. She set aside all her carefully collected 
material and wrote a full account of what had hap- 
pened, from the moment when Horace and Will saw 
Havilah escape over the graveyard wall, to the mo- 
ment when Horace told her that her child was free. 
Her story was true and straightforward in every de- 
tail; Horace was the hero of it. Susy put Will 
only where he belonged in it. But she did not 
leave him out; he was there, and Grace could not 
follow the story without seeing him all through it. 
Susy’s eyes were red with crying when she finished; 
for she wrote from a full heart. 

“There! ” she said to herself, when she had sealed 
and addressed her letter, “If that does n’t help 
Grace to a good, rousing fit of homesickness, I 
have n’t any opinion at all of her! ” 

The evening after she had mailed her letter she 
went to take tea with Rachel. 

“And I wish Grace would mope herself sick 
enough to frighten her father and mother nearly to 
death! ” Susy said to Rachel when, after tea, the 
two were taking a stroll in the garden. 

“Sue Morton, what a wicked little thing thee is! ” 
exclaimed Rachel, and then, with a wish to be loyal 
to Horace’s parents, she added : “ When they find out 
what a noble fellow Will is, their feelings will alter. 
I wish we could do something to help.” 


424 


EACHEL STANWOOD. 


“I ’m going to,” said Susy, interested in getting 
the most off the core of an apple she had been eating. 
Her letter had but just started on its way, and she 
felt at liberty to speak in the future. 

44 How?” asked Rachel. 

“I ’m going to write to Grace and put her in a 
panic about Will,” said Susy. 

“That won’t help, Sue,” said Rachel in a some- 
what matronly manner. “ She ’ll let Mr. and Mrs. 
Desborough read thy letter, and it will make things 
worse than they are now ; and they are bad enough, 
dear knows.” 

“I can’t help that,” said Susy, aiming her apple- 
core at the vegetable bed and watching it fly off at 
a right angle. “I ’m not responsible for her fa- 
ther and mother. Nor for Grace, either ; if I was, 
I ’d ” — She stooped to pick up some pebbles, and 
tried to make one go straighter than the apple-core 
had gone. “If I could, I ’d make her do some 
thing bad.” 

“Now, Sue, thee is on a prance and had better 
stop ! ” Rachel said, impatiently. 

“No, I ’m not,” said Susy, looking all about her. 
“Where did that stone go? Why on earth can’t a 
girl throw ? And I ’m not going to stop, because 
I ’m talking common-sense. I don’t mean I ’d make 
her do anything wicked — Indians and wild horses, 
together, could n’t. I mean a nice, wholesome little 
sin, just big enough to show her mettle. She ’s got 
plenty of it, if she ’d only show it.” 

“Show it! ” exclaimed Rachel indignantly. “I ’d 
like to know who ever showed mettle more decidedly 


THE STANWOOD CODE. 425 

than she did when she declared her abolitionism, and 
all through ” — 

“Oh, I know she did then,” said Susy. “But 
that was different; she was in for a big principle 
that time, and she had to show her colors or live and 
die a hypocrite. Grace couldn’t be anything but 
true , to save her life.” 

i “What would thee call ‘a nice, wholesome little 
sin ’ ? ” asked Rachel. 

“Walking out some fine day with Will and being 
married to him,” said Susy, throwing another peb- 
ble. “I wish she ’d come home and do that. And 
ask me to be bridesmaid.” 

“Is thee going to recommend that in thy letter?” 
asked Rachel. “ I tell thee, thee will make matters 
worse by writing at all. And what is the use of 
talking about what neither Grace nor Will” — 

“There! ” cried Susy, throwing all her pebbles 
away recklessly. “I am glad to hear thee bring 
Will into consideration! Thee will have it Grace , 
Grace , Grace all the time. But I am concerned 
about Will. I want Grace to know what I think 
about him, and what is due to him, and, if she cares 
sixpence for him, to come home and marry him. If 
she sees fit to lie down and die, and her parents see 
fit to let her do it, it is their lookout, but I don’t 
mean to let ’em kill off Will Hedges without a 
struggle ! ” 

Rachel’s incredulous laugh broke out again and 
she said: “Nonsense! Will is in very good condi- 
tion. And thee is on a prance, as I said before. 
But thee can rein in thy steed just a little bit, dear, 

r Horace says ” — 


426 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


Susy gave a funny little cry. “Oh! ” she said, 
addressing nobody. “Hear her say ‘Horace ’ ! How 
can she say anything hut ‘His Grace, the Duke’? 
Ray, darling, how does it feel to say ‘Horace’ in 
the presence? ” 

“Susy Morton, have done with thy nonsense!” 
exclaimed Rachel, putting her arm over Susy’s 
shoulders and, in spite of her protest, enjoying the 
girl’s fun. “ He says ” — 

“Hm! ‘ He V I can bear that ’ better,” said 
Susy softly, and then, with a sudden embrace, she 
said: “Go on, go on, dear! I am dreadfully mean. 
It is all beautiful! It ’s a great deal more exciting 
than to have his name come naturally, with a real 
Quaker bang! I ’m glad thee isn’t an Orthodox. 
Try it again, do — I ’m dying to know what ‘Hor- 
ace ’ says.” 

“Thee is an awful tease, and thee knows I ’m only 
just learning,” Rachel said, bending her head over 
Susy’s to hide her blushing. “But I won’t be dis- 
couraged — this is practice. Horace says Grace 
does not improve as his father and mother hoped, 
and that they will probably all come home in the 
spring. We don’t know, of course, how they are 
going to take our affairs to heart. But don’t write 
anything rash, will thee, Sue dear?” 

“No — o!” said Susy. “My letter is writ and 
on its way, but I don’t call it rash. It ’ll come in 
just right. But I don’t believe they ’ll wait until 
spring.” 


CHAPTER XXX. 


HOME. 

Mr. and Mrs. Desborough really had a harder 
time of it than they deserved. The effect of Susy 
Morton’s letter went even beyond her hopes. Not 
those extravagant ones which she had expressed to 
Rachel in the garden, but those which she had 
kept to herself about “a good rousing fit of home- 
sickness.” It awakened Grace from lethargy into a 
state of mind which was distressing and which her 
parents could not allow to continue. It ended her 
patient waiting. Her self-control broke down with 
exultation in her brother’s nobleness and the thought 
that it was Will, nobody but Will, who had, from the 
beginning, led the way to such a deed. It was Will’s 
life, Will’s character, to do such things, and it 
was his hand which had pointed them out and made 
Horace see them to do. Horace had gone like a 
deliverer, an angel of mercy, to Scipio and Peggy’s 
shanty, but Will was at home there! Grace’s “liv- 
ing her best ” was over with, and the long monotony 
of her submission was at an end. She sobbed it all 
out in her mother’s arms and made her read Susy’s 
letter to see it for herself. Mrs. Desborough did 
not see it, of course, but how could she show Grace 
the plain prose of things while the girl was making 
a Jeanne d’Arc of herself, seeing visions? 


428 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


“I don’t know what all the young people are 
coming to — taking things into their own hands, as 
they do,” Mrs. Desborough complained, after she 
and her husband had been talking some time about 
the troublesome lovers. “ What are you going to 
do, Robert, about this perfectly ridiculous letter of 
Horace’s? Oh, it makes me wish we had never lived 
in New York; I wish we had come over here and 
settled, when the children were young enough to 
manage ! ” 

“And have them fall in love with foreigners and 
marry the devil knows whom?” asked Mr. Desbor- 
ough, with impatience, taking the cigar out of his 
mouth as he spoke. They were sitting in their par- 
lor, late in the evening, to talk it all out in the quiet. 

“That is n’t the way they do over here at all,” 
said Mrs. Desborough, who was sitting, half reclin- 
ing, upon the lounge. “If we had lived here, the 
children would have grown up with the idea that it 
is the parents’ business to arrange those things.” 

“Yes, perhaps,” said Mr. Desborough, scowling 
at his cigar. “And where would you make your 
selection? A wishy-washy Frenchman for Grace? 
Or an Italian ? Or would you give her to an English- 
man? Bah! Talk sense, Marie ! ” 

His wife had struck the wrong key; Mr. Desbor- 
ough hated foreigners, and there had sprung up in 
his mind a picture of one of them asking Grace of 
him, and, in contrast, the memory of Will Hedges 
standing before him, refusing to give her up, and 
showing every kind of noble ambition to make him- 
self worthy of her. 


HOME. 


429 


And, after all, was n’t the fellow doing it ? What 
was there for anybody to say about the story which 
Grace’s gossiping little friend had written? The 
two fellows had been on the side of justice — the 
Southerner was trying to claim what did not belong 
to him. Even Messrs. Gray thorn and Benderly 
could not help recognizing that; and when it came 
to a woman killing herself rather than go back into 
slavery, it put all ordinary human sympathy on her 
side, no matter who she was. There was nothing 
but commendation to give to Horace and young 
Hedges in this case. And it was making an im- 
pression, too, which was going to help and not in- 
jure Horace. Here was the letter Mr. Desborough 
had received the other day from his partner, which 
said: “The acuteness which served your son in his 
former position has not deserted him in his present 
one ; he has discovered a flaw in the title of a slave- 
holder to two slaves whom he was pursuing.” It 
was very comfortable, too, to have justice on the 
side of the slaves, and it gave Mr. Desborough the 
opportunity to express his satisfaction in his son’s 
course, and to denounce, for once and without re- 
serve, that of a slaveholder. He did so to his wife, 
and added with relish his belief that Horace was 
going to make his mark and that things did not look 
as if the firm of Hedges & Desborough were going 
to do a starvation business at all. 

“But what are we going to do 9 Robert?” his 
wife asked. “What are we going to do?” 

“Well, my dear,” said her husband, with a big 
sigh, “if you want my practical opinion, I ’ll give 


430 


BACHEL STANWOOD. 


it to you, — I think we are going to submit to the 
inevitable.” 

“What do you mean, Robert? ” asked Mrs. Des- 
borough, with irritation, and sitting upright. “Do 
you mean that you won’t oppose this absurd mar- 
riage? And can’t you see what it will lead to, if 
you don’t! With Horace married to this Stan wood 
girl, and Grace more than ever under her influ- 
ence — Do you want to make young Hedges more 
determined than ever not to give Grace up?” 

“No, my dear,” said her husband, throwing his 
cigar-stump into the fireplace. “I don’t want any 
of the four young people to marry as they have 
decided to. If you ask what I want , it is easy to 
answer. I want Horace to give up Miss Stanwood, 
and Grace to give up young Hedges. It would suit 
me perfectly if Hedges and Miss Stanwood would 
pair off and marry each other. That is what I would 
like. But when you ask what we had better do , I 
say — certainly in Horace’s case, and perhaps even 
in Grace’s — we had better submit to what can’t be 
helped. Whatever we do is not going to make any 
difference in Horace’s course. He is going to 
marry Miss Stanwood.” 

“And she has played her cards well! ” exclaimed 
Mrs. Desborougli. “To think of that girl, without 
family, — I don’t believe anybody knows who the 
Stan woods are, Robert, — to think of her carrying 
off Horace! I declare it is enough to make one’s 
blood boil ! The Riverstons have always said that 
her audacity exceeded everything. And they know 
what they are talking about, for Burton tried to get 


HOME. 


431 


her. Think of that , Robert!” Mrs. Desborough 
sat upright again and let her hands fall to the sofa, 
on either side of her. “ Think of her refusing Bur- 
ton Riverston ! Think of him, so much with Grace 
and Adele Graythorn as he was, and when his 
mother talked to him about the girls (she ’d have 
been thankful if he had taken to either of them, 
although she would much prefer getting Grace for 
him), thinh of his telling her that he was n’t in the 
market because the only girl he wanted had refused 
him!” 

“ W ell, my dear, Miss Stanwood shows good taste 
in preferring Horace to Burt Riverston — there ’s 
that to say for her,” said Mr. Desborough. 

“I did not think Horace would yield to her so 
easily,” said Mrs. Desborough, in a wailing tone. 
“I thought his safeguard, for some time to come, 
was going to be his poverty. That ’s the only 
thing which has reconciled me to his sacrificing 
everything so, and refusing even to draw his allow- 
ance. But I might have known that poverty would 
be only an attraction to the Stan woods ; I believe 
they look upon prosperity as a crime. If Horace 
had behaved himself and remained in the respectable 
position he held, I don’t believe the Stanwood girl 
would have cared a pin for him.” 

Mrs. Desborough threw herself dejectedly among 
the cushions and put her handkerchief to her eyes. 

“There, dear!” said her husband, moving his 
chair to the head of the lounge that he might stroke 
her hair. “Don’t cry, dear. I must confess, Marie, 
that I believe I ’d rather have Hedges than Burton 


432 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


River ston for Grace. Burton lias no business 
capacity whatever, and I ’m afraid his disappoint- 
ment in love will send him to the dogs. He never 
will do anything with himself now.” 

“No, there you are mistaken, Robert,” said Mrs. 
Desborough, drying her eyes. “He has gone home 
for the express purpose of going into business, and 
declares that it is Miss Stanwood who has inspired 
his ambition.” 

“He is n’t qualified for anything I know of,” said 
Mr. Desborough. “ What business does he propose 
to begin with? ” 

“When his mother asked him,” answered Mrs. 
Desborough, “he told her that 4 he could wheel a 
peddler’s cart, if he could n’t get anything else to do, 
and, if that failed, that he could sweep the streets ’ ! 
He was furious because his mother and sister tried 
to show him what kind of a girl Miss Stanwood 
really was. But he would not listen to a word 
against her, and told them that she had done more 
for him than they ever had, or ever could. He said 
she had made him ashamed to be a loafer any longer, 
and that he was going to do something, if he died 
for it — 4 he ’d earn his salt, if he could n’t earn his 
bread.’ And then he told them that if he ever 
amounted to anything, he ’d have Miss Stanwood 
to thank for it ! Now was n’t that pretty hard for 
his mother to have to listen to, Robert?” 

“Pretty hard,” said Mr. Desborough, smiling a 
little grimly to himself. “But there is more in the 
fellow than I supposed.” He went on stroking his 
wife’s hair while she continued: 44 The Riverstons 


HOME. 


433 


are worried to death for fear he ’ll take up some low 
kind of business which will disgrace the family. 
Just think of the harm that comes from that girl’s 
influence! And now she has got Horace! Robert, 
you rub my hair the wrong way, dear. Of course 
she sees no difference between Burton Riverston and 
any poor young man who wants to earn a living. 
She ’d recommend anything to him ; she has no high- 
born instincts.” 

“It will be some little consolation, then, to the 
Riverstons, to see her influence transferred to our 
family,” remarked Mr. Desborough. 

“Oh, dear, of course it will! ” sighed his wife. 

“Well!” said Mr. Desborough, finally, as they 
prepared to go to bed, “I’m sorry for the choice 
which Horace has made, but, as I said, we have got 
to submit. My objections are not exactly yours; 
but it does n’t make any difference, because they 
have all got to be given up. As to the girl’s per- 
sonal qualities ” — 

“Oh, she ’s good enough! ” exclaimed Mrs. Des- 
borough. “She would make an excellent wife for 
somebody in her own station, I don’t deny that — 
but ” — 

Mr. Desborough put his hands in his pockets and 
said with some emphasis: “The girl who can make 
Burton Riverston, by refusing to marry him , want 
to stop loafing and make a man of himself, is some- 
thing more than good — she ’s a girl of charac- 
ter! ” • 

“Good heavens ! I don’t deny that, either,” cried 
Mrs. Desborough. “ There is just the trouble ; she 


434 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


has so much character that she will smother us all 
in it. We shall be charactered out of decent so- 
ciety into a mob of abolitionists before we know 
it! ” 

The last day of October brought Horace Desbor- 
ough such a batch of letters from Europe as he had 
not received by any week’s mail since his family had 
been away. We give such quotations from them as 
indicate the effect which his and Susy Morton’s let- 
ters had produced. 

Mr. Desborough wrote: “Your communication 
has taken us by storm, although I suppose we might 
have expected it. Present our regards to Miss 
Stanwood and her family. As we have taken pas- 
sage on the Ville de Havre for the 27tli it is un- 
necessary to add more ; we can offer our congratula- 
tions in person. Have the house open, and in such 
readiness for us as is possible. On Grace’s account, 
have it thoroughly aired and the fires lighted. As 
your mother will see you so soon, she does not write, 
but asks me to give you her love and to forward a 
suitable message to Miss Stanwood. I heartily com- 
mend your action in the case reported to us through 
a letter from Miss Morton to Grace — that of the 
slaveholder who made a false claim upon a woman 
and child, whose title to freedom you established. It 
is to be regretted that the woman did not know of 
her title in time to prevent her from taking her 
life.” 

In the superscriptions of the other letters, Horace 
recognized the writing of Eloise and Miss Gray- 
thorn. Miss Gray thorn wrote : — 


HOME. 


435 


Mr. Horace Desborough: 

Dear Sir , — In your new character of Abolition- 
ist, I am uncertain how to address you, and would 
not do so at all, if I did not consider it my duty to 
your sister Grace, with whom, of late, I have been 
closely associated, as yon are aware. I have not her 
confidence, but I have ordinary perceptions, and, if 
you are acquainted with the gentleman in whom she 
is interested, I would recommend him, through you, 
to take active steps toward what I should call a suit- 
able climax to his friendship. Pardon me, if I am 
innocently offending the sentiments of abolitionists. 

N. B. I have learned that the gentleman above 
mentioned is an abolitionist also, and, as I do not 
understand the code of such people, I may, in igno- 
rance, make suggestions which would be opposed to 
its principles. 

I am fully aware that the object for which said 
abolitionists live, move, and have their beings, is to 
sacrifice for a principle; if, therefore, the gentleman 
in question should prefer not to lose the opportunity 
of sacrificing the life, as well as the happiness of 
Miss Grace Desborough, pray do not allow anything 
which I have written to influence him. A little 
more patient waiting may bring about such a result 
and thereby complete the amount of sacrifice to 
which the gentleman aspires. 

I have made an effort to express myself in as 
legal a manner as possible, in order to be understood, 
and am, Your obedient servant, 

Adele De M. Graythorn. 


436 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


Eloise had written : — 

Dear Horace, — There ain’t much to write 
about Grace, because she lies down most all the 
time. But you needent worry about her because 
they are going to get something to make her well. 
It is named Nostalger and it is made in America and 
I know you have to get it fresh for the doctor told 
Papa that he better take Grace home to get it in- 
stead of waiting here and sending to America for 
it. I guess it costs a great many thousand dollars 
because Papa said he wasent prepared to get it right 
away and he says that when he don’t want to buy 
very expensive things. But the doctor was a ninny 
to think Papa wouldent buy it no matter what it 
costs and I told Mamma I would give all my money 
tored paying for it and you might give a whole lot 
more if you had stayed at Gray thorn and Bender lies 
arent you sorry you left. 

Your affectionate sister, Miss Budget. 

P. S. I guess I told you enough about Grade 
this time and if you hadent said you ’d be mad Ide 
have left out part and told you about the play I 
went to see last week arent you sorry? 

Inside of Miss Budget’s letter Horace found a 
note from Grace which we give verbatim, as we 
have that of Miss Graythorn. 

Grace wrote : “ Dear Horace, — Tell him I am 
coming home to him. Grace.” 


CHAPTER XXXI. 


RIGHT - ABOUT FACE ! 

Horace Desborough pored over his letters and 
gathered from them the impression that Grace’s con- 
dition was more serious than he had supposed. His 
father’s was worded cautiously, as if to spare him, 
or prevent him from alarming Will Hedges, Horace 
could not tell which; from Eloise’s he inferred that 
Grace’s life depended upon getting home speedily, 
and Miss Graythorn evidently desired him to convey 
to Grace’s lover the impression that he might , if 
he was bold and prompt, snatch her from the jaws 
of death, but that it was extremely doubtful if he 
would be in time. Grace’s little penciled scrap 
read something like a dying message. Horace 
studied the letters with Rachel, and they decided 
not to communicate their apprehensions to Will. It 
would be better on every account to have him and 
Grace meet at her home. Rachel and her mother 
gave Horace practical assistance in arranging for 
the arrival there of the family. Mrs. Stan wood 
sent Grandmother Rab to superintend things for 
Horace, and Rachel made a visit herself to Grace’s 
room, the only part of the house where she felt at 
liberty to leave any evidence of her personal ser- 
vices. There she left her bunches of autumn leaves 
and berries, and the garden’s late honeysuckles. 


438 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


But when the steamer landed its passengers in 
New York, Grace could scarcely be called an in- 
valid. She looked pale and thin, and older than 
she ought to, but not at all as if her happiness and 
health were wrecked. She had a wan, hungry ex- 
pression, but one, too, that was expectant of joy to 
come. 

After the manner of children, Eloise broke the 
ice of embarrassment. As soon as they were all 
boxed up in the carriage, she exclaimed, in a tone 
which had to be loud to be heard above the street 
noises, “Horace, I heard you tell Gracie that he 
sent her those roses ; who is he f ” And without 
waiting for an answer, she fired off a volley of ques- 
tions and remarks which were like a burst of fire- 
works: — “Horace, am I to say ‘Miss Stan wood,’ 
or ‘Rachel,’ as Elizabeth does? Will Elizabeth be 
my sister too ? And have I got to have Richard for 
my brother? I hope I haven’t ; he’s a hateful 
tease. Will you be going to Quaker meeting in- 
stead of church? And, if you do, can’t I have 
your prayer-book for mine? And have I got to 
call Mr. and Mrs. Stanwood ‘Uncle’ or ‘Aunt’ 
anything? One thing — I won't say ‘Uncle Scipio’ 
and ‘Aunt Peggy.’ Horace, have you got to have 
a lot of black relations?” 

These plain questions were startling, but there 
was no better way to get over approaches to awful 
subjects, and it was certainly a good beginning to 
have everybody forced to laugh. 

“ This is the sort of thing you must expect to hear 
a good deal of, Horace ; we are all as curious as 


BIGHT- ABOUT FACE. 439 

Eloise is to hear what you have to say,” Mr. Des- 
borough said. 

Horace was glad to answer and said, without 
hesitation or embarrassment: “Well, Miss Budget, 
if you are very good to her, I will get Miss Stan- 
wood to let you call her ‘Rachel.’ Under the same 
conditions you may, in time, secure from her father 
and mother the privileges of a niece, but you need 
not think of such a thing with regard to Uncle 
Scipio and Aunt Peggy. For myself, I have al- 
ready asked them to adopt me as their nephew.” 

And so, under cover of pleasantry, a good deal 
of difficult conversation was warded off. 

Mrs. Desborough was less conciliatory than her 
husband, but Horace accepted what she substituted 
for cordiality. When Horace made a move, later 
in the evening, to go away, she said: “I can’t do 
anything about the Stanwoods, Horace, until I get 
rid of the motion of the steamer, but I will call 
then, if you wish it.” 

“Yes, mamma dear,” Horace answered, kissing 
her good-night, “I wish it very much. After that, 
I will bring Miss Stan wood here, if you invite her.” 
And his mother recognized his old, authoritative 
manner which showed her there was nothing to be 
gained by resisting his exactions concerning the 
Stanwood family. 

If it had not been for him, she would have inclined 
to take advantage of their ignorance of social forms. 
Their knowledge of rules which regulate society, in 
questions of etiquette and conventionality, was su- 
perficial, and their very willingness to be passed by 


440 


RACHEL STAN WOOD. 


in matters of formal courtesy made Horace watchful 
of the slightest omission on the part of his family. 
The social forms practiced among Quakers were 
generally dictated by feeling, not rules. 

The next morning it was all settled with regard 
to William Hedges. 

“Papa,” said Grace, standing before him in the 
library, with Will’s roses in her hand, “will you 
come downstairs? Mr. Hedges — Will is there. 
He — sent me these flowers yesterday. We have 
waited and — Oh, papa, don’t you see? ” 

She spread her arms out and he saw the wan, 
hungry look in her face, lifted to him with her ques- 
tion. He took her face between his hands and 
looked into her eyes a moment; then he bent his 
head and kissed her, saying: “Go down first, my 
darling; he will expect you.” 

Mrs. Desborough would have been happier under 
a dispensation of more form and less heart. There 
was altogether too much heart for her liking, in the 
first formalities, or informalities which were offered 
by both the Stanwoods and Mortons. It was trying 
to go with Grace simply to call, and to be forced at 
once to accept invitations to tea. 

“To think of that Anti-Slavery Fair, Kobert,” 
she said, “and all Horace had to say about the peo- 
ple then, and now — we are all going to tea first to 
‘Aunt Debby’s’ and next to ‘Aunt Hannah’s M ” 
It did seem to the poor woman as if she had to ac- 
cept Quaker hospitality in pretty large doses. Her 
calls were disappointments in another way, too ; she 
had expected to be impressive, and failed signally. 


RIGHT-ABOUT FACE. 


441 


The Quakers did not appreciate her pedigree, and 
the attitude of both families toward her showed a 
consciousness of as much distinction conferred as 
was to be received, by either a Morton or a Stan- 
wood, in an alliance with a Desborough. Mrs. 
Stan wood, particularly, aggravated Mrs. Desbor- 
ough. 

“There she sat, Robert,” the latter said, “in her 
gray gown and white silk shawl, and when I told 
her that your mother was a Wallingford and my 
grandfather was a Farenby, she said comfortably 
that Rachel’s great-grandfather was a Fusby, and 
her grandmother was a Gleason, or Grayson — I 
forget which. She does n’t know the difference, 
Robert, between a Fusby and a Farenby! ” 

Poor Mrs. Stanwood did not, and never 
learned. In all the adjustments which followed the 
marriages of Horace and Grace Desborough, Mrs. 
Desborough suffered most. But, although, at the 
time, she had so much that was trying to bear, from 
the point of view of her pew in church and her all- 
important position in society, she was the gainer in 
the end. For, in a few years, she held her head up 
with the best of American aristocracy and boasted 
with pride of her connection with the genuine old 
abolitionists. 























































